The Messenger
by SFSK8rGrrl
Summary: CHAPTER 19 Is Now UP! Enjoy! Love Your Reviews! Peace & Love? Not quite. Long hair aside, they're not hippies/harmless. Their Psycho leader in prison for Life? Not likely. Rough night, Starsk? UR not alone. Here comes trouble. Orig. Characters. Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment only and is not for profit. It's written purely out of my love for the show, the characters and all who contributed to making it so utterly unforgettable. There is no intention, whatsoever, to step on the toes of any of those whom hold the rights to Starsky and Hutch.

Description: "The Messenger" is a thrilling and fun ride, but it does contain some dark scenes of physical and psychological abuse. Some blood loss. Occasional mild language, but nothing gratuitous. Introduces an original, female character. Not a "love interest" for either of the guys. (But, she is mine... all mine.)

The events in "The Messenger" take place a few months after Hutch's bloody-knuckled, just-in-the-nick-of-time rescue of Starsky in "Bloodbath".

Beaucoup grâce à proxilius5! ~ My Beta. (Any typos are mine.)

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

I welcome, encourage and eternally appreciate it if you would leave reviews!

*I have updated Chapter 1 (on 11/20/09).

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Sunrise... early morning. The cool blanket of night was once again resigned to the inevitable transformation... relenting and tentatively receding - bit by jealous bit - to the coming dawn. The echoing stillness being replaced by chaotic energy - the buzz, hum and activity of the new day. The usually blinding brilliance of the morning sun as it rose in colorless skies was, these days, tempered by the damp, cool air and general haziness which always accompanies the return of Autumn. Before too long, the fog-filtered sunlight had warmed the roof of the dew-covered Bay City Greyhound Station enough for steam to be seen rising from it, as yet another stainless steel, exhaust-expelling behemoth lumbers into it.

Having once again reached his destination, for the umpteenth time, in an endless string of years, the bus's operator deftly maneuvers the hulking, diesel-run machine into it's appointed slot. I could do this in my sleep! the operator tells himself. He yawns, only briefly closing his eyes. But, it was long enough. Upon opening them, the first thing he sees is the low overhang of the building coming up on the top of his bus, fast. He hits the vehicle's air brakes, causing the passenger-filled cabin to lurch forward before coming to a complete stop. The operator shakily lets out the breath that he had been holding, lifts the brim of his cap and wipes away the beads of perspiration that had just appeared on his brow.

_Whew! That was darn close. _ he thinks, chastising himself. He looks skyward, "I owe you one. Thanks.". Then, over the PA system, he announces, "This is our final destination, folks. Bay City, California. Please look around you before exiting the bus and make sure that you don't leave any of your personal belongings behind. If you checked any luggage, please wait outside, on the right side of the bus where the porters will be unloading your luggage. Please have your checked luggage receipt in hand, you will need that in order to claim your luggage. Thank you for going Greyhound, and have a pleasant day." And with that, the operator opened the front door, walked down the few steps off the bus and waited there to assist passengers as they departed.

Angel had just started to nod off in her seat when the bus lurched forward. Suddenly, she found herself unceremoniously ejected from that state of limbo that is midway between uneventful, non-REM sleep and dream-filled sleep and flung back to consciousness. But, she wasn't complaining. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep and she was actually very relieved that she hadn't made it to the point that she'd started dreaming... especially on a bus full of people.

Angel had been on her own for a while now and - with the exception of the occasional _really_ bad choice for a boyfriend - she had a certain level of self-confidence and a toughness about her that one has to develop in order to survive on the streets. In fact, there are very few things that actually affect her and to the casual observer - especially when on her skateboard - she appears to be fearless, if not reckless to the point of being mistaken for suicidal.

But, what those casual observers are unaware of is that, recently anyway, there are exactly two things that strike a considerably sharp chord of fear in Angel.

The first is the group of crazy cult members that she had the misfortune of accepting a ride from when she was hitchhiking outside of Los Angeles several months back. California being a magnet for bohemian flower children, Angel had, understandably, mistaken the group for your garden-variety hippies.

_Come on, Angel... _ She had cajoled herself.

_They're hippies... and hippies are all Peace, Love and Patchouli, right?_

_So, if anyone's harmless... hippies are harmless__._

And with that, Angel had convinced herself to stop being so damn defensive and then go ahead and accept their smiling, friendly invitation to hop into the van with them. After all, she'd been walking along the road for what seemed, to her, like hours with no other good prospects for a ride - at least not until the 'flower children' pulled over ahead of her and onto the shoulder of the road. And, no, it wasn't just that she was tired of walking, but she was also out of water.

_If this isn't a 'Sign', then I don't know what is..._ she'd told herself.

To Angel, at that moment anyway, their arrival seemed to be a Godsend.

What it turned out to be, though, was something else entirely, something nearly-fatal for her... her own personal 10.0 earthquake.

Soon, Angel found herself reviewing and reconsidering what she had mistakenly believed to be 'good fortune', her decision to accept the ride and everything associated with it.

Of course, suddenly finding yourself - as Angel did then - abducted, drugged, bound and beaten can have that effect on a person. Such an eye-opening experience will give you pause - as well as just cause - to go over all kinds of things in your head... immediately.

No... Their arrival was no Godsend. God wouldn't have sent them to her. God wouldn't have sent them for her.

Not any God that Angel believed in, anyway.

_God...?_

To Angel, trapped in a very dark and very sinister place - it was painfully obvious that God... had left the building.

Eventually though, she found herself waking up in a hospital. And, as soon as she was able to, Angel didn't hesitate to make tracks to leave the cracked cult members and their off-the-scale level of insanity back in Los Angeles - hopefully rendering them just so much I'll-bury-that-in-the-deepest-and-darkest-corner-of-my-mind history.

Which brings us to the second thing: Dreams. Well... Nightmares. Night Terrors, to be more accurate.

To her credit, Angel had done a bang-up job of blocking out much of her ordeal at the hands of the cult members from her conscious memory.

Unfortunately, her inability to take a trip down Memory Lane extends beyond what they did to her. Much her life before they crossed paths is missing, too. Though, the credit for that must be given to the serious skull fracture the freaks had given her as one of several parting gifts.

Anyway, whether you call it 'selective amnesia' or true memory loss, whatever it is... sadly, it isn't airtight. It isn't leak-proof. And stuff frequently slips out... really unpleasant stuff. Although, thankfully, that usually only happens when she falls asleep.

And, on the occasion when that occurs - despite Angel going without sleep for several days in a row, or at least until she feels she's too exhausted to dream - even with no memory of nightmares, waking up can be an experience - for her and for anyone unfortunate enough to be around her.

When Angel wakes up and in those first fuzzy and disoriented moments that follow, she will - more often than not - be overwhelmed with the horrifying belief that she's still trapped somewhere in the outskirts of Los Angeles... that she's still in that dark, dirty basement... that she's still being tortured by psychopaths.

She wakes up believing that... quelle horreur!... she's been dreaming all this other stuff up and that she never actually got away.

It's not only that her sociopath captors were enamored of reminding her that she could never and would never escape... But, after Angel actually made her one good escape attempt, failed to escape and was then severely punished for the attempt, she reluctantly began to believe their taunts.

Just before her escape attempt, she'd done what she thought to be an objective overview of herself, her situation and the odds of her being rescued:

_* Being rather anti-social, I know lots of people, but I don't let any get too close. So, there are no 'good friends' getting concerned about my disappearance._

_* I dumped the ex-, Jeremy, months ago and did a very effective job of convincing the abusive jerk to quit stalking me. So, he's not coming._

_* No day job. So, no boss and co-workers to declare, in their chorus of perky morning voices, "Angel didn't show up, again, today. Something's wrong! We're calling the Police!"._

_* No Missing Persons Report will be filed with the L.A.P.D._

_* No search parties will be organized and sent out to find out what happened to me._

_Hell... _Angel realized, bitterly, _I'm utterly alone in the world. No one's even gonna notice that I'm missing._

By nature, Angel may be a cynic, but she's no pessimist. Yet, even in the best light - if there even was a 'best light' - her situation looked bleak.

_Okay..._ _In all honesty... _she'd acknowledged,_ things look really... bad._

And so, feeling quite certain that it was highly unlikely that anyone would notice that she'd disappeared, that anyone was looking for her - let alone coming to rescue her - when she saw what she thought was an opportunity to escape, she didn't hesitate.

It turned out to be a mistake, though, because the whole escape attempt was just a big game to the cult members.

They'd set her up. They wanted her to try to escape and they wanted her to to fail. And, that's exactly what she did.

All of their games were just a means to and end, though. Their eyes were on the prize.

What they really wanted to do was to break her... to break her heart... to break her spirit... to break her will.

And, as Angel discovered, they were highly-skilled, quite creative and unrelenting when it came to coming up with methods of inducing acute and prolonged physical and/or psychological pain.

So, as difficult as it was to do - as normally, for Angel, surrender is not an option - she'd started giving up hope of escaping and began resigning herself to her fate... an ugly one that was no less than a waking nightmare.

So, even now, with her former captors many miles behind her - in another city - when Angel finally gives in to sleep or unintentionally falls asleep, she undoubtedly wakes up in a state of terror...

_What if..._

_I didn't get away from them?_

_What if... they still have me?_

_What if... he still has me?_

And, those heart-breaking and soul-crushing thoughts are enough to rip blood-curdling screams from her throat.

... But, thankfully, not today.

Angel rubs the sleep from her eyes, pleased to find herself at her destination. Still somewhat drowsy, she sits upright in the seat and glances around at the other passengers. Some of them are already up, out of their seats and in the aisle - slowly making their way towards the front door, pulling their belongings along with them. A few other passengers were still fast asleep in their seats, oblivious to the noise and commotion. Angel then glances at the middle-aged man seated across the aisle from her. Still asleep. His eyes are closed and she can just hear the low gurgling of his snoring. Angel smiled. Then something caught her eye and she stopped smiling. There were a few clear, sticky and slender strands of saliva strung from his chin down to his chest... where it formed a damp pool on his shirt. _Ewww! _ She quickly returns to face forward. _How embarrassing. _ Then, a horrible thought strikes Angel. _I was asleep like that a few minutes ago._ She turns away from the aisle towards the window and raises the fingertips of both hands to check her own face and chin. Then she checks the front of her shirt for any dampness. She's relieved to find it all dry and drool-free.

She sighed and smiled, _Whew!_

One of Angel's general rules is to avoid public humiliation, at all costs - particularly humiliations of the messy kind that involved bodily fluids - like drooling.

Angel makes a mental note: _Don't fall asleep in public._

But, to be honest, she knows that avoiding ever doing that is rather unrealistic.

So, she amends it: _If one must fall asleep in public, don't fall asleep in full-view of the public._

Angel extends her legs as far as she can - pointing and flexing her feet - while raising her arms above her, extending her fingers and stretches - alternating side to side - at least as far as the unyielding seat will allow. She yawns contentedly, then realizes that a few of her fingers are throbbing and feeling like icicles. She holds both hands in front of her and compares all of her fingers - palms up, then palms down. She repeats the motion a few times and then slowly curls and then extends her fingers. She examines the three fingers that had been broken not too long ago - another parting gift from the same psychos that had also given her the skull fracture. _At least they're relatively straight, now._

To Angel, in stark contrast to the healthy color and tone of the rest, these three are often a startling, bloodless white.

_They look like a mannequin's fingers._ she muses._ But, unlike the mannequin's, my fingers ache._

She shakes both of her hands, violently, trying to get blood to flow into the three that appear starved for it. The silver I.D. bracelet on her left wrist - with one word, "ANGEL", engraved into it - flips and spins around her wrist. She pulls her gloves out of her pocket and begins to put them on. As she does this, her thoughts began to wander from her healing fingers... to their mangled appearance when first broken... to the hospital room she woke up in... to how Angel, herself, looked when...

And, then, her memory flashes on _him..._

No matter the memory, be it a flashback, a dream or a nightmare... whether it is a complete memory or only a fragment...

_He _is there...

_Always_ there...

Back at the hospital, in Los Angeles, whenever the medical staff or the L.A.P.D. detectives assigned to her kidnapping and assault case asked Angel about her kidnappers or her captivity, she would sarcastically refer to him as _"My Number One Fan"_ and then laugh, bitterly. But, the brave smile that she produced couldn't hide the pain, the distant look in her eyes nor could it stop the tears that would undoubtedly fill them. And then, if the attempts at interrogation continued and they pressed her for more details, she would simply shut down, turn away from whomever was in the room and refuse to say another word.

_Sure, Detective... Since you've asked so nicely, I'd be happy to personally rip open all of the wounds in my psyche - just for you. And, while I do that, if you would be so kind as to see to it that a padded room is reserved and waiting for me in the Psych Unit, I'd really appreciate it..._

What none of them knew at the time was that as soon as they left the room Angel would immediately stumble out of bed... barely reaching the bathroom before a fit of vomiting or dry-heaving overtook her - depending upon whether they'd gotten her to eat anything or not.

Her "Number One Fan", as she referred to him, had been her primary tormentor. "You are my favorite, Angel. You are mine. Always mine.", he would often tell her throughout her ordeal. And, when he wasn't there, the other one - his second - would continue the mantra. Before, during and/or after they tortured her. His second was the ringleader of the L.A. group. He was only a lieutenant, though, not the general.

In her current flashback, Angel's Number One Fan had a fistful of her hair and was using it to lift her chin up off of her chest. His second had been working on her face - so to speak - slugging her, and he wanted to check out his handiwork... either that or he wanted to...

_No! _ Angel caught herself at that point.

She screwed her eyes shut, tightly and shook her head, sharply.

_Stop it, Angel. Don't go there. Don't do this to yourself._

She already felt the lump rising in her throat as her eyes involuntarily welled up. Suddenly, her skin felt so hot that she expected to see transparent waves radiating from it.

That was on the outside.

On the inside, she had the all-too-familiar, yet always unnerving sensation of being in free-fall.

The fact that she could feel the seat beneath her simply wasn't enough to overcome the panic.

On the outside, yes, she could see that she was still secure in her seat.

But, on the inside... the feeling was unmistakable. On the inside Angel was falling.

It was as if the outer "Angel" and the inner "Angel" were two completely separate beings.

And, at times like this, the inner Angel felt like she was sliding... free-falling through the hollow shell of the outer one.

Then, Angel's stubborn streak kicked in. That, and being awake helped, too. She knew that she was in a new city, that she was safe. She knew that she had gotten away and she refused to give in and allow herself to become an emotional train-wreck, especially now. She pounded her fists together on the window and shouted defiantly in her head, "No!".

At least, Angel had meant to say it only to herself.

Then, she heard a woman's voice from behind her ask, "Excuse me, Miss? Miss? Are you okay?"

The Good Samaritan's concern was unsolicited and - in most other circumstances - would have been unwelcome.

But, in this particular instance, the unexpected interruption brought Angel's anxiety attack to an instant halt and helped her to give herself a much-needed reality check.

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and turned slightly towards the Good Samaritan - just far enough to acknowledge her politely without making actual eye contact. "I'm... uh... I'm fine, thank you. I just realized that I left something in back in Los Angeles. _Like my worst nightmares..._ I apologize for worrying you."

Angel listened to herself speaking the words._ Sounds appropriately sheepish and sincere. Heck, I'd believe me._

Unsurprisingly, the Good Samaritan believed her, too. "Oh... That's too bad. Well, okay, dear. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.", the woman said.

_That's sweet. Just like someone's Grandmother. _ Angel thought. "Yes, ma'am. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern.", Angel replied.

After the woman departed and moved up the aisle to exit the bus, Angel heaved a sigh of relief and looked out the window beside her. All she could see outside were a handful of uniformed Greyhound Bus employees, a group of passengers milling about who were probably waiting to retrieve their luggage from the cargo hold underneath the bus and, beyond them, only the billboard-sized chassis of the bus that had pulled up alongside them - which succeeded in blocking any view she might have had of what might lay beyond.

_Bay City, California huh? It sure doesn't look like much._

She sat back, took a deep breath and sighed, audibly. _Well, Angel, look on the bright side... It ain't Los Angeles. _ she told herself.

Then she gave herself some more encouragement, _"Look, you're in a new city. Nobody knows you. You left no forwarding anything in L.A.. It's just you and your Dogtown.", _she smiled thinking of her recently acquired skateboard - a gift from some wild and crazy boys she'd met in Los Angeles who were skateboarding in neighbors empty backyard swimming pools.

She paused, thinking of more items to add to 'the bright side' list.

_"Oh yeah... No more abusive, jerk of a boyfriend hanging around in the shadows... stalking me."_

Angel took a deep breath, held it and then glanced out the window once more - checking the entire perimeter. After verifying that the proverbial coast was clear - she blew out the breath she was holding and relaxed.

_"And the icing on the cake... no more hippie-looking, but-so-not-hippie, psychotic, __bloodthirsty, __Partridge Family freaks!"_

She smiled.

_"Bay City, California... What's not to love?!"_

And with this last exhortation, Angel zipped her leather jacket shut, grabbed her skateboard from under the seat and her backpack and headed for the exit and her new home.

(*To Be Continued...)


	2. Chapter 2

Hello Starsky & Hutch FanFiction Fans:

Hope you're enjoying **The Messenger**!

Thanks for reading!

Reviews are greatly appreciated and precious to me!

Thank You Prolixius5, my esteemed Beta Reader!

**THE MESSENGER**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 2

Detective Kenneth Hutchinson stood in his kitchen and finished off his usual blended breakfast concoction.

_Maybe a dash more black-strap molasses next time_... he thought to himself.

He rinsed out the blender and the glass and then placed them in the dish rack to dry. He glanced at his watch and then turned to the morning newspaper on the table and unfolded it. He began scanning the bold headlines on the front page, but then thought better of it...

_On second thought, I think I'll start the day off without reading the bad news from around the world_, he tells himself.

He turned a few pages until he reached the section that focused only on the news from around California.

As he glanced over the various articles, one headline alone drew all of his attention:

**Simon Marcus To Serve Nine Consecutive Life Terms... Authorities Seek Help On Possible Tenth**.

_Great... _Hutch shook his head. _...Now what?_

Just below the headline was a small black-and-white photo of the man, Simon Marcus, whom detectives Starsky and Hutchinson had arrested, brought to face Justice and whom both men knew better than they would like. Simon Marcus was the deranged and dangerous cult leader who - with the help of a loyal group of his followers - was behind Starsky's kidnapping, assault and attempted murder a few months earlier.

The article went on to briefly describe the history of Marcus' case, the nine first-degree murder charges brought against him, his trial and conviction. Starsky, Hutch and Captain Dobey had been present at his sentencing hearing. The closed hearing should have been the death knell for Marcus' reign of terror.

Instead, it turned out to be the beginning of a terrifying, life-and-death race against time for the two detectives.

In the middle of that hearing, the wheels of Justice had been brought to a grinding halt when a group of Marcus' followers - seen outside the Bay City courthouse harmlessly chanting - pulled off the stunning daytime abduction of Detective David Michael Starsky from the courthouse men's room. There were no witnesses and no one was the wiser... until the bailiff delivered a folded-up note to Hutch that simply asked:

_**"WHERE IS STARSKY?"**_

When Hutch looked up after reading the note, his gaze intersected with that of Simon Marcus. Despite Judge Yaeger being in the middle of giving Marcus a verbal dressing-down from the bench, the madman had made it a point to turn around, just so that he could see Hutch's face after reading the note and smile at him.

Hutch rubbed his eyes and shook his head. It was all still all too fresh in his mind.

Shortly after dropping the unconscious detective in the back of their van and then calmly driving away from the courthouse, Starsky's abductors had called Hutch and given him 24 hours to get Simon Marcus released. Their next words occasionally still echo in the back of Hutch's mind, _"Sentence Simon Marcus and you sentence Starsky... to death."_. The nightmare scenario put Hutch in an utterly impossible position. They might as well have demanded delivery of The Moon. Hutch knew that there wasn't a snowball's chance in Hell of Marcus being released from custody. As for Marcus' sentencing, the judge could only postpone the hearing until the next morning - his concern being that Marcus' defense attorney would move for a mistrial if the delay were extended.

The kicker was that the only potential source for leads on Starsky's whereabouts was the puppet-master himself, Simon Marcus, the very same man who was behind Starsky's abduction... an irony that wasn't lost on Hutch. In the interrogation room, Simon Marcus sat at the table with the calmness and serenity one might expect from a Buddhist monk - but not from a man who was known to have butchered nine people... at least. Marcus' wild eyes sparkled as he waxed poetic and wove his words into riddles - only agitating Hutch further. Marcus knew exactly where Starsky was, but he only would only speak of his dreams about Hutch's death, as well as Starsky's and that Starsky was _"...already dying."_, the last was spoken in the most casual, matter-of-fact tone.

Then, the one clue that Marcus offered, _"Begin at the end."_, sent Hutch on a wild goose chase.

When Hutch sought help from the owner of a farm where Marcus and his "family" had stayed in the past, the man scoffed at him, saying he didn't want to end up like Hutch's partner. The man then walked into a barn and was promptly killed by a bomb the "family" had planted. By now it was obvious that Marcus didn't want Hutch to find his partner.

This nightmare was Marcus' idea of payback. Starsky and Hutch were instrumental in sending him to prison... to Hell. So, Marcus sent Starsky to Hell... knowing full well that it would put Hutch through his own Hell in the process.

In fact, all of the cult members knew from the very beginning that the authorities would never release Simon. And, they had no intention of releasing Starsky... not alive anyway. It was all part of their game.

Towards the end of the 24 hours Hutch had been given to find Starsky before he was executed, the driven detective finally caught a break. With the assistance of Captain Dobey - and particularly that of Huggy Bear - the three men had finally deciphered enough of Marcus' cryptic ramblings and riddles to figure out where Starsky was being held.

The old City Zoo.

The sun was just coming up when Hutch arrived on the scene and saw his drugged, battered and burned partner hanging by his wrists - his feet barely touching the ground - in the old zoo's aviary. And he wasn't alone. The devoted cult members were standing in a circle around Starsky and they were chanting - they were always chanting - their twisted leader's name, _"Simone... Simone... Simone..."_.

Each of them was holding an item that could only serve one purpose and intention... to cause excruciating pain and grievous bodily injury to Detective Starsky. Hutch saw a meat cleaver, a baseball bat, a length of heavy chain... and they were waiting for some signal to begin their carnage.

The cult's neophyte member, Gail, was dressed in a white gown. She stood in front of Starsky, holding a very large knife. She was in near hysterics - alternating between crying, chanting Simon's name and quoting the Bible, _"Thou Shalt Not Kill...". _Apparently, Simon had relayed to his followers his prophetic dream of how Starsky would die... in a ritual killing. And, Gail's role was vital to the ceremony. She was being urged by the groups ringleader to sink the knife into Starsky... to make the first cut... to draw first blood. That first cut would be the signal for the others would join in on the bloodbath.

Thankfully, for Starsky and Hutch, Providence came to the desperate scene in two forms that morning.

Standing face-to-face with Gail, Starsky had been trying to talk her down... to connect with the lost, scared and confused girl whom had, apparently, been kidnapped by the cult and was being drugged and brainwashed. Starsky kept calling Gail back from the brink of completely falling victim to the cult and of instigating his murder. To the awe and astonishment of all present, Starsky succeeded in reaching Gail, and in the last few seconds - instead of plunging the knife into him - she cut him free.

Then, with Starsky and Gail holding the circle's complete attention and thanks, in part, to the obstruction created by the hoods the cult members wore over their heads - Hutch had made the most of the element of surprise being on his side. He ambushed group and fought them all off - like a man possessed - using only his fists and agility and saved Starsky's life.

Hutch rubs his knuckles, unconsciously, as he looks further down the article to another small photo - this one is of a girl.

There was no name below the photo. The girl looked to be in her twenties. Her body language indicated that she didn't like to be photographed. And, even though the girl wasn't looking directly into the camera, Hutch knew by looking at that photo that she had been tortured.

_Tortured. Robbed of all control. Brutalized. She has been at the mercy of the merciless..._

And, it wasn't just the tell-tale discoloration of layered bruises on her face that told him. It wasn't the dark color that stained what was supposed to be the white part of one eye. It wasn't the stitches that shadowed her hairline. It wasn't even the slender, horizontal slice on her throat...

It was the look in her eyes. There was something about it that stopped Hutch - cold. And the moment that he saw it... he knew.

_She looks utterly... haunted... like something's lost and broken inside her._

Of course, Hutch had immediately recognized the look. How could he not? After all, he'd seen it up close and personally recently.

That gut-wrenching, soul-deep expression of pain that he recognized in the girl's eyes...

Was the same one that he'd seen in his partner's eyes, on more than one occasion, in the days that followed his last-minute rescue.

Sure, Starsky had repeatedly insisted, to everyone who asked, that he was okay. That man was an expert when it came to keeping up the appearance of being, _"... just fine, thank you."_. To this last - when it was Hutch who was doing the asking - Starsky often added, _"Now... leave it alone, would'ya Hutch? Please, just drop it, already."._

But, Hutch knew better than anyone how skilled his partner and best friend was at maintaining that "impenetrable, tough cop" exterior and he'd told him as much...

_"Fine. You win. I'll drop it for right now. But, you know what, Starsk... You can fool most of the people - the bad guys, the public, fellow officers, even Captain Dobey - most of the time."_

_"But, you can't fool me, buddy. I know you. I see through all the... stuff. I see the real you."_

_"I'm just saying, if you reach the point... No, scratch that. When you reach the point where you have to talk about it..."_

Hutch didn't have to say another word.

Starsky had held up his hand to interject and - locking blue eyes onto blue eyes - he smiled and said, _"I'll know where to find ya'."_

That had been the end of the conversation, until Hutch was about to leave.

Starsky was skilled at using humor to deal with serious challenges. Not only that, he was also driven to be the one to get the last word in... So, as Hutch was pulling out of his parking spot and head back home, Starsky yelled out to him, _"But, don't hold your breath!"_, and then closed his door.

Continuing to read the article, Hutch found out that that shared expression wasn't just a coincidence, either.

Not unlike Hutch's partner, the girl had also been kidnapped, assaulted and nearly killed by some cult members outside of Los Angeles. She'd ended up in the ICU of an L.A. hospital, listed as a "Jane Doe". Unfortunately, she had disappeared from the hospital before the L.A.P.D. had been able to identify her. The police weren't saying whether they had any proof of further foul play involving the cult. Yet, there was a growing concern that the cult members may have taken her back - perhaps to keep her from talking with the police about them. The authorities were fresh out of leads and were enlisting the public's help in finding her. They couldn't say whether they thought she was still alive or not. But, if she is found dead and they find evidence connecting her death to Marcus, they would love to slap another first-degree murder charge to the nine for which Marcus had already been convicted.

Hutch looked at the girl's photo again.

_Damn it! I hope that she's okay. That monster, Marcus, did get around didn't he?_

_Well, hopefully, the rest of us can sleep a little better, now, knowing that he's going to be in prison for the rest of his wretched life._

Two quick honks from Starsky's car horn outside prevented Hutch from reading the rest of the article.

He glanced at his watch and raised his eyebrows - surprised at the time.

_Speaking of sleeping better..._

Hutch slipped into his shoulder holster and then pulled his jacket on and walks to the front door.

He paused before opening the door.

_I better read the rest of that article..._

He turned, returned to the table and carefully ripped the article out of the paper,. He folded it up and then put it in his jacket pocket as he headed out the front door... just as his impatient - and early - partner tapped on the horn again.

Hutch closed his front door and turned. He smiled and waved at Starsky and then jogged down the stairs to his partner and the "Striped Tomato".

When he reached the car, he stopped in front of Starsky's window, leaned down to get a good look at him and gave him a somewhat puzzled look before continuing on to the passenger side door, thinking to himself,

_Bright, blue eyes; curly brown mop - He certainly looks like my partner._

_And this sure looks like his 'Tomato'._

_But, Starsky... My Starsk... Early for work?... Again?..._

"Good morning, Starsk!"

As he sat down in the car, Hutch considered making a joke referencing Starsky's sudden change of character and the old black-and-white horror movie, "Invasion Of The Body Snatchers", that he and Starsky had seen on TV a few nights ago. He was about to deliver the joke when he glanced up at Starsky. His some-what pale partner was just finishing another yawn and was rubbing his eyes.

_Hm-mm... Maybe I'll save the 'Body Snatchers' joke for another time._ Then, recalling Marcus, thought, _"Or, perhaps we'll just forget that one."_

Starsky looked like he had a rough night... again.

_Aww, Babe... Looks like you're still not sleeping._

Hutch pondered asking his partner the question aloud, but he decided to keep it to himself.

After all, he didn't want to (s)mother his partner with too much TLC...

Yeah, well... okay... maybe he did.

But, Hutch knew all too well that Starsky wouldn't appreciate it. He'd already mentioned to Hutch that he tends to go overboard with the mothering thing.

Hutch could already hear Starsky's response, in his head...

_"Trouble sleeping? Yeah, sometimes... But... Wait a minute... Hutch, listen, I already got a Mom... You know that, right? I know ya do. 'Cause I was in the room on several occasions when you were talking to her on the phone. So, do us both a favor and don't quit your day job, O.K. partner? Stick with the detective work."_

Hutch smiled and then reached for and tousled Starsky's mop of brown curls

Starsky pulled away, gently and looked at Hutch, "You okay, there, Hutch?", Starsky asked.

_Yeah, Starsk. I'm here. You're here. We're here, together. And, right now, all is right with the world. _He thought...

But, what Hutch actually said to Starsky was...

"Yeah, partner. Terrific! We're terrific! How 'bout we stop for a cup of coffee on the way in? Where's your favorite place to get a cup of that internal organ-dissolving rocket fuel, anyway? I'm buying."

Upon hearing this, Detective David Michael Starsky's face lit up.

"It's about five blocks away...", he says, "Hold on ta something."

And, just like that, Starsky pulled out of the parking place they'd been in and maneuvered into the flow of morning traffic.

(*T.B.C.)


	3. Chapter 4

Hello!

Thanks For Reading!

Enjoy!

*My Most Sincere Thanks To Prolixius5, My BR, For Her Priceless Assistance!*

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

By: SFSK8rGrrL

Chapter 3

* * *

Angel was the last passenger to exit the bus. Upon reaching the door, she hopped down the steps and carefully made her way around the growing crowd of impatient passengers who were thrusting their checked luggage receipts in front of the two harried porters and clamoring to be attended to.

Once clear of the commotion, Angel only briefly continued to observe the boisterous bunch as she slowly backed away from them - shaking her head.

_Avoiding that sort of circus is exactly why I only pack what I can carry._

And, then she moved on.

_Now, who do I ask for reliable directions to the business district?_

Angel may have been fresh off the bus, quite literally, but she was no babe in the woods. She'd always been athletic. And, after a couple former boyfriends became physically abusive, Angel learned to fight and defend herself. Overall, she'd developed a healthy survival skill set.

Then, there was her ordeal with the cult outside of Los Angeles.

That 'life experience' had added something that Angel was unaccustomed to - call it nerves, anxiety or paranoia - that was a bit of a 'wild card'.

So, when she heard footsteps approaching her from behind, she didn't have to think, she just reacted.

Angel did a swift 180. She gripped the heavy skateboard firmly in one hand and held it slightly above the ground at her side. She was physically and mentally ready to play offense or defense.

And she was ready for... well, for whoever or whatever had been coming up behind her.

And then... there he was, right in front of her. Only a few inches from her face...

Or, was he?

_No, Angel, he couldn't be here. He's in prison right now. And he's never getting out. That's not him._ Ah, the voice of reason.

Angel screwed her eyes shut and shook her head... _Come on, Angel... Keep it together. Focus._

She willed herself to keep her breathing steady and slow. She 'told' her heart to follow suit. Then, she re-opened her eyes.

The calm, rational voice of reason had been right. It usually was.

_No, it wasn't him... it wasn't the "P__sycho Pied Piper"._

The man standing before her was the operator of the bus in which she'd arrived.

Sure, thinking that she had seen _him _had thrown her for a moment. And, although the operator's presence was a vast improvement over the alternative, all Angel could think about was what she was about to do to whomever she found sneaking up behind her in those first few moments.

Angel looked at the man's face. He was smiling. He actually looked a little concerned for her.

_He's concerned for me? That's rich. Oh, Mister.... If only you knew._

Angel knew. She loosened the grip on her skateboard, then she accidentally dropped it. It struck the sidewalk with a loud _"Bang!"_.

The operator thought he's startled her and he apologized.

"Oh, no. No apology necessary.", she told him, "You didn't startle me, it was the guy right before you who startled me."

The operator scratched his head and laughed, if a bit nervously, as Angel glanced around to see where her skateboard had rolled.

He moved towards her Dogtown, as if to pick it up for her, "Here... let me get that for you.", he offered.

"No!", Angel said, louder than she meant to. Then she caught herself. "I mean... No, Thank You.... That's okay. I've got it.", and with that, she walked over to her skateboard and tapped the tail of it with the toes of her right foot - popping the deck up off of the sidewalk - vertically - and into her waiting hand... "See?", she smiled.

"I do.", he replied and smiled back. He paused, furrowed his brow and then began to examine her face more closely, "You know what? You look really familiar. Was that your picture I saw in ...", he started.

A small spasm of panic fluttered in Angel's chest. She stepped away from him and quickly interrupted where his line of questioning was heading. "Sir? Could you tell me how to get to the business district... to downtown?".

"Oh, sure. Just take this street right here... Main Street", he motioned to the street directly in front of Angel, "... and follow it down for about six or seven blocks... You can't miss it."

"Thank you so much. Take care.", Angel replied. And, wanting to make a quick exit and avoid any further conversation, she turned slightly away from the man and headed for the street that he'd indicated.

She hadn't taken more than a few steps before she heard him call out to her, again, "Ah, excuse me... Miss?".

Angel stopped, sighed and turned around... with her smile back in position. "Yes?", and she held her breath.

"Do you.... ah... Do you really ride that thing?", he motioned to her skateboard.

Angel released the breath, relieved that he had dropped the picture-in-the-paper thing.

She gave him a genuine - if not mischievous - smile and replied, "This noisy thing?", raising the Dogtown.

The man nodded, "Yeah, do you ride that?".

Angel shook her head and, with sincere incredulity, said, "Ride on this death-trap? Are you kidding, Mister? No way.". She paused, then added, "Maybe you haven't heard... but, girls can't skateboard!"

And, with that cheery response, Angel turned away. Then, in one fluid motion, she dropped the deck so that it was rolling down the sidewalk ahead of her... she jumped onto it and then smiled and waved good-bye to the man - who now wore an amused/confused expression on his face as she skated towards downtown Bay City.

(*T.B.C.)


	4. Chapter 6

Hello!

On "Thanksgiving"... Remembering the Native American Occupation of Alcatraz.

This one's got a cliffhanger...

Thanks for Enjoying!

Thanks So Much for Reviewing!

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 4

* * *

Boys and their cars...

Starsky and his beloved Ford Gran Torino.

Between the glossy, red-hot paint job with the dramatic white streak and Starsky's stunt driver-worthy skills behind the wheel...

He and _"The Striped Tomato"_ - as Hutch liked to call it - had mastered the art of making an entrance.

The engine purred with a low, percolating and powerful rumble - as if it were on steroids. Light pressure on the accelerator was enough to produce a rolling, bellowing roar that was recognized city-wide. When this baby was in pursuit of a suspect, pedestrians on the sidewalks, occupants of other vehicles and even many people who were indoors both heard and felt it - before they saw it. The sounds and vibrations - announcing the impending arrival of two of Bay City's Finest Detectives - were enough to strike fear deep in the hearts of countless crime bosses, criminals and cons - from the gutters and alleys of skid row all the way up to the penthouse suites boasting 360-degree views of the city.

In an urban jungle adaptation of some predator vs. prey footage from TV's Wild Kingdom, Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson know that when they are hunting down bad guys, hitting the usual hot-spots in some of the seedier sides of town - especially if they're in the Torino - the prey they're stalking will undoubtedly react in a handful of predictable ways.

If there's more than one suspect being sought and they're found in each others company, the common reaction upon spotting one or both of the detectives coming towards them is to split-up and scatter in different directions. Another stock evasive move suspects will make is to try to blend in with the crowd. Many will make a mad dash for cover or a perceived 'safe' place to hide, even if it's as obvious a spot as the bar that they're standing in front of. Starsky and Hutch, having years of experience on the force and plenty of street smarts, usually make short work any feeble attempts to evade them. To the two detectives, notorious throughout the crime world, it's all in a day's work.

Of course, there are other, much more desperate responses - like the taking of a hostage to use as leverage during negotiations in the hope of still being able to escape... But, thankfully that scenario doesn't happen too often.

So far, this day has been really quiet for Starsky and Hutch.

Then again, the day had only just started and they hadn't even set foot into headquarters, yet.

Sitting shotgun, Detective Ken Hutchinson was performing his usual routine on the days that Starsky drove - vigilantly scanning the sidewalks - keeping an eye out for trouble and/or known troublemakers. Hutch usually just checked the sidewalk on his side of the car and Starsky would keep an eye on the sidewalk closest to him. This morning, though, Hutch was doing double-duty - scouting both sides of the street. He couldn't help but to have noticed that his partner was trying - and not too successfully - to stifle a string of yawns and that it was taking some extra effort on his part to simply stay focused on the road in front of them - in spite of having just enjoyed a large cup of his favorite coffee.

Hutch would have preferred to keep his concerns about Starsky's apparent sleep difficulties to himself for a little while longer. In fact, he would have done that if it weren't so obvious that Starsky's sleep issues were beginning to have a harmful effect on his partner. Now, after seeing for himself what it was doing to his partner, Hutch felt that the situation required an immediate intervention. For one thing, Starsky has been less than forthcoming with any details about the problem, so Hutch doesn't know if his partner is just having the occasional fitful night of sleep or if he is struggling with a complete inability to sleep. Getting enough sleep is integral to anyone staying healthy, but, being police detectives, Starsky's and Hutch's jobs are dangerous enough even with a good night's sleep under their belts. If Hutch let it go and Starsky kept going without enough sleep, it would eventually endanger one or both of their lives.

Hutch also knew that, Starsky - if left to his own stubborn _"... I'm handling it on my own, Hutch."_, devices - would, undoubtedly, continue to delude himself... continue believing that he is handling it... and then possibly end up falling asleep behind the wheel and getting seriously injured... or worse.

_That's it, Starsk._ Hutch tells himself, making his decision, _I don't care if you get really annoyed with me for continuing to ask how you're doing/if you're okay/what's going on. I'd rather have you alive and really annoyed with me than..._

Hutch wouldn't risk losing his best friend, especially from something that is so completely avoidable. He made the inquiry as painless as he could for Starsky - keeping his eyes turned to the sidewalks they were passing by - as he casually asked, "Rough night, partner?".

Starsky was just finishing another yawn, "Hutch..." He knitted his brows. His voice sounded tired... and yes, definitely... already annoyed.

"Starsk, just hear me out. Please, babe. I'll keep it short and sweet, okay?"

Starsky took a deep breath and blew it out, "Okay, Hutch. Short and sweet."

"Okay. First, you should know that I've been holding my tongue for a while and I would've kept holding it...".

Starsky interjected then, "... I'm glad... so what happened?".

"Starsk, I said short and sweet... unless you keep interrupting me, buddy. May I continue?", Hutch waited for his partner's conciliation.

"Okay. Sorry. Please... Continue. I won't interrupt you.", Starsky conceded.

"Thanks. As I was saying... I would've kept holding my tongue, except for the fact - that's f-a-c-t - that whatever it is that is making it impossible for you to get a good night's sleep is beginning to endanger you. Yes, I know that you said that you wanted to handle what happened with Marcus' freaks in your own way and I respect that. I respect you, babe, you know that I do."

"But, I can see that somethings up that's affecting you... it's affecting your health... it's affecting your safety... it's gotta be affecting your abilities and safety on the job...", Hutch closed and rubbed his eyes, "And, well... if your own health and safety isn't a good enough reason to do something about it, then how 'bout the health and safety of your partner?" He paused and glanced at his partner."

At the moment, Hutch thought Starsky resembled a student who was struggling to stay awake through his least favorite class: he was yawning yet again and - although his eyes stayed on the road - they were glassy and he was raising his eyelids wide.

Hutch suddenly felt a rise of anger welling up inside... this was hard enough for him to just verbalize to Starsky... and now, he couldn't tell if his partner had heard what he'd said... or if he was even listening to him.

Angrily, Hutch slapped the Torino's dashboard with both open palms, "D... Damn it, Starsk! You... you know how much you... you know what you mean to me!".

Hutch didn't usually get this angry with Starsky, at least not when the root cause was that he's worried about him. And now that he'd finally vented some of his pent-up frustrations, he was already beginning to regret smacking the dash of Starsky's beloved Torino.

_Great job, Hutchinson! That's what I call keeping it calm, cool and casual..._ He chastised himself.

Still, Hutch was beside himself.

_Starsk... how could you not know? Why in the hell are you making this so difficult for me?_

Feeling anxious and pained, Hutch glanced again at Starsky.

_What?..._ He squinted his eyes and... _Yes...He is..._

This time, his partner wasn't yawning... This time, Starsky was smiling.

Hutch then realized that his partner was finding all of his angst very amusing.

Starsky must have then suddenly realized that Hutch was, indeed, looking right at him, because he tried to, nonchalantly, cover the smile by forcing a yawn - something which - in his current state - wasn't too difficult to do.

Hutch raised the index finger of his left hand in front of him and towards his partner - in a warning gesture, "Oh, no you don't, Starsk... I saw that." Then, he reached out and gave his partner's shoulder a light shove, "You are such a turkey... d'ya know that?", he said.

Starsky knew he was busted. He'd known that he was putting his partner through it, alright. Still, he'd found that he just couldn't help himself.

_Hmm... maybe it's the lack of sleep?_ he pondered, but only momentarily.

He turned to look at Hutch and the smile broke through again... this time into a full grin.

Then he said, sweetly, "I love you too, Blintz.", and he batted his long, dark eyelashes at his partner, teasingly.

Groaning in utter frustration at his partner's antics, Hutch rolled his eyes, turned Starsky's chin so that he was facing the road ahead again and said, "Starsk... eyes on the road, please. Look where you're... where we're going.".

Hutch took a deep breath and then slowly blew it out.

"Very funny, Starsk. You're a very funny guy... with a very short attention span.".

Starsky's smile drooped ever so much at that last part.

Hutch sighed and then continued, "So, here's the Reader's Digest version: It would honestly kill me to hear at some point that you fell asleep while you were driving, that you wrapped the 'Striped Tomato' around a pole or a tree or struck some concrete embankment and that you got yourself killed... all because you were being stubborn... because you insisted on being stoic... because you kept turning me away with, "I'm fine, Hutch..." and "I don't hafta/needta/wanta talk about it"... okay?".

He paused, briefly...

"There... That's it. I just laid it all out there on the table. Hopefully, you heard it... and, now, I'm done. I'm dropping it.", and with that, Hutch shook his head and then rested his elbow on the door frame, his chin on his palm and went back to scanning the sidewalks.

As Hutch's attention was no longer on his partner, he was unaware that Starsky had felt those last words that Hutch had spoken like they were a blow to his gut.

Starsky was struck by the depth of his partner's fears, his concerns... his genuine, unconditional love for him.

And, in particular, he was amazed by Hutch's ability to come up with just the right words to communicate this to him.

Now, a wave of guilt washed over Starsky... and replaced his initial feelings of annoyance.

Starsky knew exactly what Hutch was so concerned about. It was the whole Simon Marcus case and Starsky's ordeal...

Several months ago, Starsky had been kidnapped, beaten, tortured, drugged and very nearly killed by the cult leader's brainwashed, psychopath followers.

And it had been his pal, Hutch, who had saved him from a certain and very brutal death.

Afterward, Starsky had taken only a few days to rest, recuperate and - for the most part - impatiently wait for the doctors to declare him fit for work.

Of course Hutch had been there - at Starsky's side - the whole time.

Just as he'd always been before, whenever Starsky had been injured.

But, this time, Hutch's presence and persistent, repetitive insistence that Starsky talk to him about what he'd been through had started to grate on him.

_Talk about it? You're kidding, right, Hutch? You're not? Well, partner, if you honestly feel that you need to sift through all of the graphic details - they're in my statement... in the case report I filed._ He'd said.

Starsky didn't want to talk about it the physical torture and psychological torment he'd been through. He didn't want to re-hash - and he definitely didn't want to re-live - what had been done to him. Nor did he want to dredge up the gamut of emotions he'd felt: the fear, the dread, the helplessness... how he'd felt towards the end of his ordeal - when it really looked like he was going to die an unbelievably violent death... and then, being struck with the horrifying thought of Hutch discovering his remains.

Once most of the visible, external reminders of his ordeal at the hands of Simon Marcus' psychotic followers had nearly healed, Starsky hadn't wanted to review the invisible, internal, psychological wounds.

And so, every time that Hutch had casually made the suggestion that the two of them talk about it all... Starsky had pushed him away.

It was only now that Starsky realized that he hadn't considered how his ordeal might have affected his partner.

He had just assumed that Hutch - like himself - would be better off putting it all behind them. Get past it... Forget it...

_Get past it? Forget it? Yeah, right, Starsk. Maybe after a little electro-shock therapy. _Starsky had mused.

Yet, there was something that happened which Starsky still cringes about - inside - that he had wanted to find a way to talk to Hutch about.

It was in the moments just after Hutch had - single-handedly - laid out the machete-, chain- and club-armed psychos with his bare-knuckles. He quickly returned to where Starsky lay sprawled on the ground - after the beatings and poisoning, he was too exhausted to stand - and put his arms around his partner and told him, _"It's over, buddy. I gotcha. You're safe, now."._

In response, Starsky had raised his head, slightly, and - through a pained smile - said to his beloved partner, _"What took you so long?"_.

Even now, the memory of that moment causes him to involuntarily grit his teeth.

Of course, at the time, Starsky had been seriously dehydrated, slightly delirious and was falling back on his characteristic, knee-jerk reflex of using humor to try to ease the more pain-laden moments.

He hadn't really meant it.

He was actually so grateful to see his partner that he was on the verge of shedding uncontrolled tears.

But, he hadn't relayed that piece of information to Hutch.

Since then, Starsky kicks himself every time that he replays the scene in his head.

He knows that Hutch is a man's man and all, but he also knows that his partner has got a considerable sensitive side.

And, sometimes he simply forgets that... until he says something he wishes he could take back.

"Hold on, Hutch." Starsky then signaled that he was pulling over... and he did - out of the flow of traffic and on to the shoulder of the road.

He set the Torino's gear in "Park" and turned to face his concerned partner... his best friend.

(*T.B.C.)


	5. Chapter 7

Hello FanFiction Friends!

Hope You're Enjoying **The Messenger**!

Thanks For Reading!

Feel Free To Leave Reviews, Comments, Etc.!

L.

Merci Beaucoup, Prolixius5 - My Fabulous Beta Reader!

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 5

* * *

Starsky looked at Hutch. He really looked at him. And, although Hutch was still looking away from him and out the window, the lines and furrows of concern on his partner's face were still visible to Starsky, even in profile.

Starsky knew that he had to do something... he had to say something, right now, to ease his best friend's mind... to smooth out the wrinkles.

So, despite his own deep aversion to 'soapy scenes'... not to mention the fact that they were sitting in the (less-than-inconspicuous) Torino in broad daylight, in full view of anyone who happened to be driving by, Starsky swallowed some of his pride and slightly lowered his usually impenetrable defenses.

_Hutch..._

He loved this man. Hutch wasn't just his partner. And, he was much so more than his best friend. Hutch was a part of him - his other half.

Starsky knew that, without Hutch, he simply wouldn't be whole.

_Me an' Thee._

Yet, in spite of knowing this, Starsky still found it nearly-impossible to express to Hutch - in words - what the man meant to him.

_"You're my pal, Hutch. If this were a cowboy movie... I'd give ya my boots." _A while back, Starsky had put all that "soapy stuff" into these two sentences after he'd been injected with a poisonous compound and the two men had run out of leads in finding the person holding the formula... which was the only thing that could save Starsky's life.

_Okay, here goes... _Starsky took a deep breath...

"Hey, partner... I'm pretty sure it's illegal to stay parked here for too long, so, will ya look at me?"

Hutch then turned to Starsky - blue eyes meeting blue eyes.

"Listen, Hutch... I, uh... There's sumthin' I should've said to you a long time ago...".

Hutch raised his eyebrows, "And, what would that be, Starsk?".

"Hutch... this ain't gonna be easy for me. So, it's my turn to ask that ya please don't interrupt me."

"You're right, buddy. I apologize. Please go on."

"Thanks." Starsky paused and then took a deep breath.

"Thank you... I mean... that's what I should've said to you several months ago... what I should've said to you back there... when you got to me at the zoo. Thank you. I mean that. From the bottom of my heart... my soul."

"Thank you for putting yourself through sitting in the same, small room as Marcus, the murderous freak who was behind my abduction - twice - and sifting through all of Marcus' twisted tales, riddles, false clues and B.S."

"I read the report... how the only leads you and Captain Dobey and Huggy had to work with were Marcus' insane ramblings about, "... The Temple of the First Kingdom... trees... water.... the king of the forest is dead... ebony...". How you managed to sift through all of that nonsense and still find me - I'll never know."

"Thank you for finding me and for showing up when you did. If you hadn't... or if you had shown up even just a few minutes later than you did...". Starsky looked down at his wrists. He could still see the scars. Towards the end of the hellish ordeal that was his abduction, when Marcus' followers were going to execute Starsky, they had bound him with very rough rope and hung him - by his wrists - in the aviary... like a piece of meat.

It was in the aviary where they had intended to slaughter him and that was where Hutch had found and rescued him.

At least the visible scars - like those on his wrists were slowly fading.

"I want you to hear this directly from my lips, Hutch: The whole time that they had me, I never lost hope that you would find me. I knew that you would. But, after a while, it honestly didn't look like you were going to get there in time... ya know? Towards the end, I started thinking that... that, just maybe, my luck had finally run out... that this was going to be it... that I was as good as dead... that I was gonna die a terrible death, right there, at the hands of those brain-washed freaks.". Starsky took a deep breath and slowly blew it out.

"And, if that actually was gonna happen... I'll be honest with ya... if they were gonna kill me... I was praying, deep down inside, that you would never find me... not ever... not like that. I would never want your last memories of me to be filled with images as horrific as those would have been. Towards the end, I prayed more for you to be spared seeing the aftermath of what they were gonna do to me than I prayed to survive and make it out of there alive."

Starsky paused.

Hutch put his hand on his partner's shoulder. Both of their heads were bowed. A peaceful and solemn silence filled the car for a few moments.

Hutch raised his head and broke the silence first, "I'm sorry, Starsk. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you. I was seriously going out of my head trying to find you."

"And, yeah, I went in to talk to that nutcase, Simon, twice. I would've done anything... anything to find you. And, it was all a big game to him."

"Then, I went to see that rancher... he still refused to give me any information about them... and then he got blown up right in front of me."

Starsky raised his head to meet his partner's eyes again, "Hutch, you don't have to apologize for finding me when you did. The bottom line is... you found me. And, that's all that matters. Nothing else." Starsky stretched his arm along his partner's, to Hutch's shoulder. "I'm the one who is sorry."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for in all that, babe?", Hutch was a little incredulous.

"D'ya remember when you found me in the aviary? After you had disarmed and left those freaks lying on the ground... you came over to me, pulled me up off the ground, wrapped your arms around me and told me that it was all over. You're priority was to make sure that I knew that you were there and that I was safe. Well, I... I said something really stupid. You gotta remember it... I looked up at you and all I said was, "What took you so long?"."

Hutch thought back to that moment and chuckled, "Yeah, you did say that, didn't you?"

"Yeah I did, Hutch... And, I need you to know that I didn't mean it... not seriously, anyway. I was just exhausted and delirious and... you know me... always playing the clown... it's that thing that I do when I'm trying to make light of really heavy situations... it's almost automatic. I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."

"Aww, babe... I know that. I knew at the moment when you said it that it was just your built-in, joke-cracking defense mechanism talking... Is that what's keeping you from sleeping? Worrying about that?"

"That's part of it, yeah." Starsky paused. "Well, there's other stuff... but that's a big one. It's something that's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since I said it."

"Well, let me ease your mind right now. It's a non-issue, okay, partner?"

"Okay... That's a great relief. I'm relieved you didn't think that I meant it." Starsky looked away again.

"Of course I didn't, Starsk. Don't give it another thought. And, please, don't lose any sleep over it."

"I won't... not now. Thanks, Hutch."

Hutch gently squeezed Starsky's shoulder to get his attention and their eyes met again.

"Hey, and what about that "other stuff" that you mentioned? What 'other stuff'?"

Starsky drew back his arm as he looked at his watch.

"Wow, will ya look at the time. You know what, Hutch? Captain Dobey will have both of our butts in a sling if we're late again this week. How 'bout we save the "other stuff" for another time?", he turned to Hutch with his puppy dog eyes.

Hutch couldn't help but smile at Starsky's evasive maneuver, "Okay, you got it, partner. But, I'm gonna hold you to that, you know that, don't you?"

Relief swept through Starsky, "Of course I do, Hutch... you've got the memory of an elephant."

"And, don't you forget it."

"I never will, partner." Starsky produced one of his trademark smiles.

And, with the air between the two best friends now a little clearer, Starsky started the Torino back up and they headed towards the station and a waiting Captain Dobey.

(*TBC)


	6. Chapter 9

Hello S & H FanFiction Friends!

A brief explanation: In The Messenger, I alternate between two different spellings of "Simon/Simone". It is intentional. As in the 'Bloodbath' episode, the majority of characters (mostly his followers) pronounced his name "Simone". But, Hutch, in particular used "Simon" (as in the scene where he begins to say, "Simon says...") or "Marcus".

And, I want to "Thank You!" in advance for reviewing any of the Chapters or the story so far!

Enjoy!

(Just to clarify, the section in italics is a flashback. Thanks!)

* * *

**The Messenger**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 6

* * *

Once Angel had reached downtown Bay City, she looked around for a payphone. Spotting a phone booth, she walked up to the glass and metal structure, stepped inside, set her skateboard upright between her knees and closed the booth's folding door behind her. She reached inside her right-side jacket pocket, pulled out a small handfull of change and dumped it on top of the payphone. Then she reached in the jacket's left-side pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper with a name, "Danny" written on it. Below the name was a phone number with an area code that placed it in Los Angeles.

To Angel, Danny wasn't just a friend... as far as she was concerned, Danny had saved her life.

Their first meeting was definitely memorable for both of them.

It was in the middle of the night. Angel didn't know what time it was but, then, she'd never been a clock-watcher, so not knowing the exact time didn't bother her.

That said, at that particular moment, there were a few things that she was finding really irritating.

The first was that she didn't have a clue as to what day it was. The last several days were all mixed up and fuzzy in her head. Until very recently, Angel figured that every 24-hour period pretty much resembled the last: the sun came up and the sun went down. But, knowing what day of the week it was gave her some small sense of stability... of routine... of something reliable. Now, when she was feeling terribly desperate for something... for anything recognizable or reliable... even something as small as knowing what day of the week it was... there was nothing.

The second thing was the fact that she was wandering - well, stumbling - and completely lost in the middle of nowhere. There were no signs of civilization in any direction. She had no idea where she was...

_Although, if I were to venture a guess... I'd put my money on Hell... _She'd told herself.

In any other situation, if Angel found herself lost... she'd be annoyed, but she would figure a way out of the situation. But, Angel's current situation was far from "normal".

In this particular situation, she'd sustained a serious concussion as well as several other injuries at the hands of a psychotic cult leader.

Thirdly, there was the little (big) issue of not being able to remember her name... neither was she sure how long she'd been living this nightmare... nor much of anything beyond the immediate, unpleasant past.

Feeling that she had enough on her plate at the moment, Angel decided to worry about the missing memory issue much later.

For now, when Angel racked her brain and asked herself what she did remember... she came up with _him_..._**Simon Marcus**_.

She remembered that he had been about to leave their little party. The cult's fearless and, undoubtedly, felonious, freak leader was departing.

_Well, hip... hip... hooray! Finally! About damn time..._

Angel had begun to think that he'd never leave. Or that, perhaps, he would depart at the end of the game he was playing with her... although Angel didn't know if she would still be alive at that point to celebrate.

When he came in to tell her that he was leaving, she was - as usual - sitting alone in that dark, dirty and windowless basement room. Her arms were pulled around the support beam behind her and her wrists tied. Angel had been struggling with the rope... trying to free herself... but, other than tearing open the skin of her wrists and hands... she hadn't accomplished much. He walked up to her, checked the ropes, clicked his tongue "._.. tsk... tsk... tsk..." _and then he kneeled down in front of her.

He was only a few inches from her face when he told her - in what Angel noticed was a remarkably sincere voice - that he was sorry to have to leave her... but, he had some important business to attend to elsewhere.

_"Like I could care?" "And... you're telling me this... why?" _were the responses that Angel worked to hold in her head... the ones that were screaming to be expressed... to be spat out at him.

Although it took great effort and restraint for Angel to do so, she remained silent. Since the cult members had abducted her, Angel had learned - the hard way - to withhold her historically freely-expressed sarcastic remarks and to keep her sharp comments to herself because - in spite of finding herself in an utterly bleak situation - they made sure that she understood that being a smart ass would kick the unpleasantness up a few notches.

He was saying his good-bye to his Angel. And she held her tongue and prayed that he would just leave, at last.

As he stroked her hair, Angel was aware that she was trembling. It was an involuntary, small yet constant tremor originating from the very core of her being. To Angel, the worst thing about it was that he could feel it. Although Angel told herself that the trembling was from other things... like exhaustion, dehydration, shock and being stuck in the same position for extended periods... she knew that fear was in there, too. And, this close to her, there was no way that he couldn't feel it.

_"Simone is going to miss you, Angel..." _he'd said as he stroked her hair. As much as her body wanted her to scream, bite and kick him, Angel forced herself to stay still and endure his touch. She focused on keeping her breathing calm.

_"But, Simone will be back for you, Angel... because you're mine now... always mine."_

Angel had come to hate the way the cult leader spoke. She hated the sound of his voice. She hated his speech patterns. She hated the repetitive phrases.

And, above all, she really hated it when he referred to her like she was his possession... a thing... _his thing_.

He went from stroking her cheek to tracing her jaw line with his fingers... then down her neck and along her shoulders... and... and Angel couldn't take it anymore...

Angel took a shuddering breath... and she was happy to feel a rising tide of anger behind her shaking now, instead of fear. She lifted her eyes to meet his and made her voice come out soft and low... at first.

_"Simone?" _She started, sounding shy and subservient.

_"Yes, my Angel?" _He replied, twirling her hair in his fingers.

_He's actually hopeful... the fool... the Freak!_ Angel thought.

Then Angel broke the spell...

(softly) _"Simone... _(a little louder) _How the hell can I miss you... _(with all that she had in her) _if you won't get the hell away from me... You disgusting, delusional, psychopath freak!"_

Marcus stopped as if she'd physically struck him... He stopped stroking her hair... It was as if he'd stopped being... he'd stopped existing for the next few seconds.

No... Angel hadn't just broken the spell... she'd shattered it.

Despite knowing what was coming next, Angel smiled. She knew that it was gonna hurt... in fact, it was gonna hurt a lot. She figured on a split lip... maybe even a broken finger or two... definitely a black eye...

Angel had also figured that showing Marcus that he had failed... that he couldn't erase her... couldn't obliterate who she was... couldn't break her... and then seeing the devastation it caused him to hear that was worth some pain, bruising and... yeah, even a little blood.

Angel glanced up at Simon Marcus. his fingers were still threaded in her hair. She watched a deep rage build in him. He started shaking. And then Angel saw something dark flash across Marcus' face. She was looking in his icy eyes and watched as they somehow turned even colder.

It sent a chill through Angel.

_"Oh boy... Me an' my smart mou..." _Angel never got to finish the thought.

Before she knew what was happening, Marcus had gathered the hair that he had been stroking and grasped it in a white-knuckled fist, rose up from his knees, pulled her head forward - by her hair - and snapped it back... striking the back of her head hard against the support beam behind her.

It took a few moments... but, as the initial shock of what had just happened receded, Angel was certain about a few things:

That her mouth was filling with blood from inadvertently biting down when her head struck the beam.

That there was an oddly loud buzzing or humming or... something dampening her hearing.

That there was blood running down the back of her neck and out from her nose.

And, last but not least... Angel, was certain that she would outlive this brain-fried freak.

Angel hadn't intended to, but a sudden chill went through her that gave her the sinking feeling that she'd said that last part out loud...

Because, after cursing her name, Marcus grasped her hair in his fist and did it again.

Then, for just an instant, Angel thought she saw a flash of light.

Then it was 'light's out' for Angel.

(*T.B.C.)


	7. Chapter 10

Greetings, Starsky & Hutch FanFiction Friends:

Enjoy!

Thanks For Reading!

And, Thanks So Much For Your Reviews!

Lyxie (BR): Tu es la meilleure!

* Please Note: I've Updated Chapter 7 (on 12/05/09). *

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* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 7

* * *

With a little bit of luck and Starsky's remarkable, NASCAR-worthy driving skills, the two detectives arrived at Metro with a several seconds to spare.

Hutch had opened his door, yet he was still sitting in the passenger seat. He'd been watching - with a fair amount of relief and amusement - as Starsky had changed... right before his eyes. No longer was he the bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived and perpetually yawning man whom had picked him up earlier that same morning. No, Starsky had - at some point between the strong coffee and the swift ride to the station - spontaneously transformed into the energized, kinetic partner whom Hutch now saw before him... and whom Hutch had sorely missed seeing over these last few months.

Obviously, Starsky's caught his 'second wind' Hutch reasoned. The basis for his theory was the simple fact that this Detective David Starsky had been humming a cheery tune - albeit one Hutch was unable to identify - for a several minutes... long before he had even stepped out of the Torino.

Hutch wasn't the least bit surprised by his partner's sudden burst of energy, though. He knew Starsky. And, he knew very well, that the simple act of being behind the steering wheel and driving the "Striped Tomato" a bit like a madman always brought a smile to Starsky's face and set his blue eyes to sparkling.

"Starsk..." Hutch began, as he closed the door on the passenger's side. Starsky stopped, turned and waited for his partner. "You know... I would ask you, 'Where did you learn to drive like that'? But, I've decided that I'd rather not know."

By now, Hutch had caught up with Starsky and he pushed open the doors of Bay City's Metro Division to let his partner through ahead of him.

"Why's that, Hutch? Are ya afraid to unearth some of the skeletons in my closet?" Starsky asked - smiling - as he entered the building.

"No, it's not that at all, partner. I'm afraid that, if you were to give me the answer, I may not want to get back in the car with you." Hutch smiled and shrugged. He nodded a greeting to a few fellow officers as they passed them in the hallway.

Starsky nodded to them as well - even as his smile fell on one side - but only for a moment.

"Ha... Ha... that's really funny, Hutch."

"Yeah? I thought so, too." Hutch teased.

"Really... very funny. And, d'ya know what else is funny, partner?"

"What's that, Starsk?"

"Well, I'll tell ya. I've lost track of the number of times that I didn't want to get into that thing you call a car when you're driving. And, there's something else that I've wanted to tell you... I've been hiding something from you."

"What have you been hiding from me, Starsk?" Hutch's curiosity was piqued.

"I've been hiding the fact that I still cringe every time that I hafta ride shotgun. And my reason has absolutely nothing to do with your driving skills." Starsky replied - his smile back in place.

Starsky was referring, of course, to Hutch's multi-colored, dinged, dented and rust-enhanced LTD - a vehicle that seemed to always be teetering on the edge of completely breaking down as well as one Starsky was embarrassed to be seen in. But, much like Starsky and his Torino, Hutch would never give up his LTD... at least not voluntarily.

Hutch turned to his partner with mock surprise and feigning indignation, "Starsky, are you trying to tell me that you don't like my car?" Hutch asked.

Starsky's smile was now 100%. "Nah, Hutch... What I've been trying so hard to tell ya is that you shouldn't like your car!" Starsky said as he laughed and he pushed open the doors to the squad room to let Hutch through first.

Immediately after entering, Starsky made a bee-line for the coffee pot and Hutch headed for his desk. The dark-haired detective had just filled the first mug for Hutch and was pouring one for himself when Captain Dobey opened the door to his office and stuck his head out. His eyes immediately found Starsky and Hutch, "Starsky... Hutchinson... How nice of the two of you to make an appearance this morning and grace the squad room with your presence." He bellowed in his usually gruff voice.

Starsky looked up, "Good-Morning, Cap'n..." and greeted the big man in a musical tone, "And how're you this fine..."

But, he never got to finish his sentence due to Dobey's brusque, no-nonsense interjection, "None of your business, Starsky. Now, both of you... in my office... now!" Dobey barked at the two men and then, without another glance or word, he withdrew back into his office.

Starsky glanced at Hutch and - without needing to say a word - asked the question of his partner. Hutch glanced from his partner, to Captain Dobey's now-closed office door, then back to Starsky. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, closed it and then shrugged. "Yeah... me neither. I guess we'll find out in a minute." Starsky responded as he handed the mug of coffee to Hutch - who was holding the door to Dobey's office open with his back. "Thanks, partner, but I think I'll stick with plain, unadulterated water." Hutch said. Starsky furrowed his brow - for only a moment - then shrugged, "Suit yourself, partner." he replied, with a grin, as he took back the second mug and strode into Dobey's office.

Hutch was about to make a dash for a Dixie cup of water, but - thwarted by the somewhat sarcastic tone of his superior - he didn't even clear the door-frame.

"Hutchinson! The water cooler will still be there when we're done. Now, get in here... and close that door behind you." Dobey thundered.

"Yes, sir, Captain." Hutch nodded, entered the office and closed the door behind him.

Starsky was already seated in the nearest chair. He was working on finishing off the first of his two mugs of coffee when Hutch swiped the second mug off of the arm rest of the chair and stepped towards the Captain's desk.

"Hey..." Starsky began to protest.

Hutch smiled at his partner, then turned to Captain Dobey and proffered the mug, "Cup o' coffee for you, Captain Dobey?"

Dobey reached for the mug, "Oh... Sure, Hutchinson. Thanks."

After handing the mug to Dobey, Hutch took a couple small steps back and attempted to - without looking - sit on the arm rest. At just that same moment, Starsky suddenly and ever-so-slightly tilted the chair. Yet, it was just enough motion to send his partner off-balance and force him to start over. Hutch then straightened up, turned around, checked the position of the arm rest and shot Starsky a look. Starsky smiled at Hutch, shrugged innocently and said, "Maybe you need some coffee?". Hutch gave his partner the classic "warning" finger and then took his seat on the arm rest.

It was also just enough motion for Captain Dobey to notice, "If you two are done horsing around... I'd like to get started."

Starsky and Hutch both immediately turned to face Dobey and replied, simultaneously, "Yes, sir." and "Yes, Captain."

Captain Dobey took a seat behind his desk. He then picked up a closed and well-worn file folder from the center of his desk that had at least two inches of paperwork in it and was bound with rubber bands. "Starsky, Hutchinson, I called you in here so I could tell you about a potential change in the status of a recently-closed case of yours."

Starsky and Hutch briefly glanced at each other and then returned their attention to Captain Dobey.

"The District Attorney's Office contacted us shortly after receiving the information to inform us that the D.A. is currently reviewing the information and is considering re-opening the case, pending the outcome of several investigations."

"And, what case might that be, Captain?" Hutch asked. Captain Dobey glanced down at the file folder, sighed and tossed it across the desk to the blond detective. Hutch lifted the folder and tilted it up so he could read the name on the file. When his brain first registered whose name it actually was that he was reading... Hutch's throat tightened, making him cough. He cleared his throat. Then, he turned to face his partner and placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. Hutch knew that there was no way to hide the dismay he felt from his partner... so he didn't even try.

Now, Starsky was really curious, "Well?", he asked. "C'mon, Hutch... No need to keep me in suspense. Who's the lucky perp?"

Detective David Starsky wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, the type of person who is easily ruffled. Yet, this sudden lack of response - casual or otherwise - from both his Captain and his partner was beginning to put him a little on edge.

"Well?" Starsky immediately stopped slouching and was now sitting up upright in the chair. He may not have know what was going on, but he knew that he didn't like it... not at all.

Hutch looked at the well-worn file folder, "Starsk... It's...um..." and then read the name aloud at the same time that Dobey said it, "Simon Marcus".

Upon hearing the name of the deeply-disturbed cult leader who was behind his own recent abduction, assault and attempted murder, Starsky visibly paled. He shot up and out of the chair, in so sudden and unexpected a motion that he'd very nearly succeeded in sending Hutch off of the arm rest and onto the floor this time.

Starsky grabbed the file folder out of Hutch's hands and opened it as he began to pace back-and-forth. He tossed out several questions in rapid succession. Yet, he never paused nor seemed to be interested in waiting for answers.

"What? Simon Marcus? You're... You're kidding, right?"

Flipping through the Marcus file, Starsky continued, "Simon Marcus... is in prison.", he stopped pacing and looked at Hutch. "We...", Starsky pointed between his partner and himself and motioned back and forth, "We put him in prison. He was given nine consecutive life sentences for those nine first-degree murder convictions, at least that's the last I heard."

Starsky blinked his eyes and shook his head as he fought to stem the flood of memories of his ordeal at the zoo that were currently flashing across his mind's eye.

It was painful for Hutch to watch his partner go through this... yet again. With just one look in his partner's blue eyes and he knew that Starsky was reliving some of those terrifying moments. Starsky blinked again and peered closer at the pages, trying to focus on the ones were the most recent additions to the file...

"He is still in prison isn't he?" Starsky asked. He was hiding pretty well, but Hutch could hear the stress in his partner's voice.

This was one question which definitely required a response. Starsky looked up from the file. He sat back down in the chair and then took a slow, focused, deep breath. And, as Starsky did this one little exercise that Hutch had coached and cajoled him into practicing, he diverted the flood of memories and he regained his feelings of being in control of his emotions and reactions.

Then, he asked calmly, "Well, isn't he?" He looked at his partner and then at his Captain.

"Yeah, Starsk. Of course Marcus is still in prison." Hutch spoke to his partner in reassuring tones, but the look that passed between the blond detective and Captain Dobey - above Starsky's head - was a look of shared and deep concern.

The two men had good reasons to be concerned for the third man. For, despite Starsky's consistent and passionate declarations of being, _"Fine... just fine." _and his claims that he's suffered no long-term effects from the ordeal of his abduction, captivity and near-murder at the hands of Marcus' people... his partner and best friend knew better.

Hutch had sat at Starsky's bedside every night for the first week after his rescue from the zoo. He was there every night for his best friend, to calm and comfort his partner who - tormented by violent nightmares -frequently woke up in a state of terror, covered in sweat and screaming in response to the carnage in his dreams.

Even though Starsky had continued to flatly denied it, Hutch knew his partner was still struggling with nightmares and plenty of sleepless nights.

Real healing takes time and distance. And, the horrific events of just a few months ago were still very fresh in Starsky's mind. And as for distance... well, Detective David Starsky had often felt that he would never get enough distance between himself and the tortures he'd survived at the zoo.

"And, prison is where he's staying, Dave... uh... Starsky.", Captain Dobey cleared his throat and hoped that emphasizing "Starsky" would distract the man from catching the Captain's use of his first name.

Starsky wound the rubber bands back around the file folder and tossed it back on Dobey's desk. He sighed, deeply. He leaned his head back so that he was facing the ceiling and slowly rubbed his eyes.

"This is just such a great way to start off the day... ya know? We walked into the station what?... say, five?... maybe ten minutes ago? And, the first thing I hear is that the District Attorney's Office is considering re-opening that psycho, Simon Marcus's case... seriously." He paused.

And, as if that's not enough to get me feelin' a bit like I've just stepped dead-center in front of somebody's cross-hairs... The next thing that I hear that sets of alarms in me is Captain Dobey calling me by my first name, 'Dave'". Now, I can count - on half of one hand - the number of times that the Captain's called me by my first name and ..." Starsky glanced at both men with a concerned and tired look on his face, "And, I don't know which one of those two things worries me more."

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Starsky." Captain Dobey suggested. "It's not a done deal with our D.A.. He hasn't re-opened the case, yet. He's waiting to hear the results of some investigations that are currently going on in Los Angeles County." He said.

"And, what does Los Angeles County have to do with the Simon Marcus case, Captain?" Starsky asked.

"According to this new information from L.A.P.D., Simon Marcus, apparently, spent a fair amount of time in Los Angeles... happily spreading the madness and mayhem of his sick sermons beyond Bay City and at least as far as L.A. and it's adjoining counties. They've also recently uncovered strong evidence that directly links Marcus to a number of unsolved murders there. At the same time, they've gathered statements and evidence that point to Marcus having organized a sizable group of followers in Los Angeles.

"The news just keeps getting better and better..." Hutch said with a sigh. "Yeah, just when you thought you could feel safe going to sleep at night..." Starsky laughed to himself at this and then corrects himself, "Well, just when some other people thought they could feel safe going to sleep at night...". Hutch looked at his partner. Starsky smiled and shrugged in response. Hutch gave him a look that said, "We're going to talk about this, later...". Starsky turned to look at Dobey, "Anything else we should know, Captain?".

"Well, one of the things L.A. County is currently focusing their efforts on is locating a girl who went missing from a hospital. It is their firm belief that she had been abducted and tortured by Marcus and his people when he was down there. As far as they can tell, she's the first and only survivor of that experience. She was dropped off at an Emergency Room - in near-critical condition - by an unidentified male. The hospital said she presented in the E.R. with numerous physical injuries and emotional signs that are indicative of having been tortured. She had also been beaten and drugged."

Hutch had been keeping an eye on his subdued partner while Dobey spoke. Up until this moment, Starsky had showed no significant reaction nor emotion. But, when Captain Dobey mentioned the part about the girl being "tortured"... Hutch watched Starsky wince, as if he were in pain... or as if he were remembering being in pain.

"She also suffered a serious concussion - she described it as a farewell gift, courtesy of Simon Marcus - which apparently left her with some extensive memory loss. The E.R. staff who spoke with her reported that she remembers her abduction and events that took place during her captivity, but has no memory of her personal history. She had no ID on her... other than a bracelet with the name, _"ANGEL"_ engraved on it.

According to written statements taken from two E.R. nurses who spoke with her, she identified Marcus as the primary figure involved in her abduction and torture. She was able to confirm that Marcus does have an organized group of followers in the L.A. area."

"T'rrific..." Starsky muttered under his breath.

"Unfortunately, the L.A.P.D. detectives assigned to investigate her abduction and assault case weren't able to acquire many more details from her about her captors or about her ordeal. They had arranged for the local news stations to run a "Jane Doe"-story about her to try to find out who she was when she disappeared from the hospital. It isn't known if she left on her own, if someone helped her or if some of Marcus' cult members grabbed her to prevent her from disclosing information about them to the investigators. Neither the hospital staff nor the L.A.P.D. have any concrete leads as to what happened to her and are appealing to the public for any information they might be able to provide about her." Dobey paused to look at the reports he'd received."

"God, I hope for her sake, it wasn't them." Starsky said softly. "You and I both, partner." Hutch added.

Hutch then turned to Dobey, "Captain Dobey, I just read about the girl in this morning's paper..." Hutch said as he pulled the article out of his jacket pocket, unfolded it and held it aloft.

Upon hearing Hutch's revelation, Starsky's head popped up. His eyes went directly to the article dangling in front of him. He raised his brows to his partner, "You did... what?", Starsky then snatched the article out of Hutch's hands, gave his blond partner a look that said, "We're going to talk about this, later." and then started to read it.

Hutch looked back at Dobey, "So, inter-office communication still isn't where it should be, is it, Captain?".

"Not by a long-shot, Hutchinson." Dobey replied, "Anyway, see what you can find out through the people you two know. L.A. County would love to put more nails in Marcus' coffin. If the girl from the hospital turns up dead or if any of a number of murder victims that are believed to be the work of Marcus and his flock can be connected to him and the D.A. can file more charges against Marcus and get convictions on them... well, it'll just be more icing on the cake. Right?" Dobey looked at the two detectives.

Hutch was the first to reply, "Right. Sure, Captain Dobey. We'll get right on that."

"Yeah, I'll go make a quick call to Huggy Bear and find out if he's heard anything through the grapevine or any of his other sources." Starsky added.

Both men stood up and Hutch opened the door to let his partner through. After Starsky had exited and gone for the phone on his desk, Dobey called Hutch back. "Hutchinson, how's that partner of yours really doing? He looks a little more rough around the edges than usual."

"You see that too, huh, Captain? Well, at least, now I know it's not just me worrying about nothing." Hutch paused and took a breath. "Captain, I'm pretty sure it's that he's still consistently having trouble getting a good night's sleep. He still has violent nightmares... bad ones. Of course, he keeps telling me that he's fine, but..." Hutch paused again.

"Well, try to talk to him, will you? If you think it's serious enough that he needs to be given a few days leave to get some sleep or to see a shrink... lemme know, okay? And, Hutchinson, I'd prefer that you speak to me before you think it's reached the point where it becomes something that might endanger him or the both of you."

Captain Dobey would never admit to it and he generally dislikes showing it, but, at times like these - when he was concerned for his men - it was not easy for him to hide the fact that he'd actually developed a soft spot in his heart for his top two detectives.

"Yes, sir, Captain. I sure will. And..." Hutch looked at Dobey.

"And... what, Hutchinson?" Dobey inquired.

"Thanks, Captain." Hutch replies with a smile.

"Yeah...whatever. Now, get outta my office and get to work, Hutchinson!" Dobey barked.

"Yes, sir!" Hutch saluted the Captain and went out the door, closing it behind him without another word or glance.

Which was a good thing... otherwise he might have caught a glimpse of the smile on the big man's face.

(T.B.C.)


	8. Chapter 11

Hello Starsky & Hutch FanFiction Friends!

Please note: Chapter 8 is a continuation of the flashback to the events in Los Angeles (prior to Angel's arrival in B.C.).

Enjoy! Thanks for Reading! Please Feel Free To Leave A Review!

Beaucoup d'estime, Prolixius5 (My Fantastic BR)

*A Special 'Thank You' To Janet Brown, Brook5 and Prolixius5 for Leaving Reviews!*

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 8

* * *

_This wasn't supposed to happen..._

Simon Marcus' deep disappointment wouldn't be held back.

"No! No! No!" He yelled as he pounded the walls with the bottoms of his fists... leaving bloody prints behind.

He spun around and looked towards the floor, "This... _This _wasn't part of my dream!", his anguished cries echoed throughout the empty basement.

Actually, the basement wasn't entirely empty... there was the bruised, bleeding and motionless body of the girl lying at his feet.

Simone looked at the blood on his hands, then down at the girl. Fighting back hot tears, he fell to his knees beside her and pushed the now scarlet-stained hair away from her neck. He fumbled around, trying to feel for a pulse on the side of her neck, but he couldn't find one.

In that respect, Simon had three things working against him. First, in all honesty, he wasn't exactly sure where to check for it. Second, he was in a rather worked-up, emotional and agitated state and... last but not least, his fingers kept sliding off.

_This wasn't supposed to happen..._

After all, Simon had dreamed of her... he had dreamed of this... well, not of_ this_... exactly.

But, he had dreamed - and vividly so - of finding her... of finding this wandering angel.

And then, it came to pass, that in the days that followed his dream, when Simon and a group of his followers were out in their van picking up supplies and they happened to see this girl on the side of the road - hitchhiking and all alone - they pulled over and stopped... as it was so often their practice to do.

Simon had already told the rest of his flock about his dream with the Angel in it and so, when this lone girl came running up to the open passenger-side window - with that beautiful smile and that sparkle in her eyes - and said, "Hi! I'm Angel. Thanks so much for stopping for me..." Simon and his group were all smiles, too.

They needed nothing more to convince them...

There _she _was... standing right in front them!

Simon simply welcomed these events as yet another of his prophetic dreams coming true.

Simon knew that this was the Angel from his dream... that this was _his _Angel.

He quickly opened the passenger-side door and said, "Well, come on in, Angel ... We've been waiting for you."

After climbing in the van, Angel had thanked them, again, for stopping because she'd been walking along the road for a long time and she was completely out of water.

Simon had the three girls seated in the back of the van - April, May and June - give Angel some of their herbal tea to drink. Which she had accepted, graciously and drank quickly.

It was the girls' own _very special _blend of tea.

Not surprisingly, once Angel regained consciousness and found herself bound to a beam in the basement of Marcus' property on the outskirts of Los Angeles...

Well, to say that she wasn't terribly happy about her new surroundings or her predicament would be an understatement.

And, yes, she had really given them some problems... right from the start.

Simon had tried to reason with her. He'd told her that the situation was only temporary... that she wouldn't have to stay tied up in the basement forever. But, she had to be willing to co-operate and she had to do as she was told.

Alas... his Angel had other ideas.

Simon and the group had found her to be surprisingly strong - both physically and mentally.

And, she had some temper. Simon couldn't understand why she was always so angry with him.

Then, there was the wit, the sarcasm and her sharp tongue...

So, as it turned out, it was taking a great deal of work to convince Angel to accept her place with them and to accept Simon.

Of course, some of the work was rather unpleasant - and often painful for Angel - but it was necessary.

_Besides, every relationship takes work, right? _Simon mused.

Simon never wanted to hurt her... he hated having to hurt _his _Angel.

It's just that... sometimes... well, no... actually, with her, it was most of the time - she just wouldn't listen and she gave him no other choice.

But, in spite of her rebelliousness, it wasn't always like that.

Because, there were times when Simon simply couldn't stand to look in his Angel's eyes and inflict pain and cause her to cry out.

And, at those times Simon refused to hurt her.

At those times, he'd turn and walk out of the basement.

But, on his way out, he'd give a nod to his second-in-command, Jonathan.

And Jonathan would punish Angel for him.

And, _now..._

_This wasn't supposed to happen..._

Due to recent events, Simon was being called away by pressing business that he needed to attend to in Bay City.

He'd come by just to visit his Angel and to explain his upcoming and hopefully-brief absence from her.

He also made sure that he told her how much he was already looking forward to coming back from his trip and spending some quality, one-on-one time with her.

After all, it was obvious to Simon that Angel needed the attention. She was still being very difficult, she was still being stubborn and... yes, she was still being mouthy.

Simon and his group had been working on helping Angel get over those undesirable responses, though, and she was having them less frequently and with less intensity than when she'd first arrived.

Simon could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

They were finally wearing her down. Tearing down her defenses. Changing her into who they wanted her to be.

It was just a matter of time until they would be able to break her.

And, Simon felt that - by taking some extra time and using the right methods - he could do it.

He had realized early on that it was going to be a challenge to break Angel.

Yet, Simon was willing to do whatever was necessary to accomplish that goal.

Because Simon Marcus was always up for just this sort of challenge... a battle of their two wills... and, if Angel was anything, she was strong-willed.

Simon was also willing to do whatever was called for because... well, because he liked Angel.

Besides... _she _wasn't going anywhere.

_Angel just needs some focused, intensive and individual attention. _Simon had believed.

And he would have been more than happy to provide her with that.

Until now... until_ this _happened.

_What went wrong?_ Simon asked himself.

He'd repeatedly made his feelings known to her.

In fact, he had explained to Angel that she should feel honored.

After all, he'd chosen _her_... above all the others.

That sacrifice alone should have let her know how he felt about her.

So, of course he became very angry with her for saying the hurtful things that she had said.

Since her arrival, Angel frequently chose to hurl words that were intended to wound him.

And, sometimes they did hurt him.

Yet, in spite of her temper, Simon still had to admit that he liked her.

_There's just something really... special about her._ He'd thought.

_She's not just another pretty face... she's smart... she's brave... she's got a lot of heart._

When Simon had started, he had been confident that, by using the right methods and amounts of coercion... pain... combination of drugs... that he could break her.

_Snap her like a twig..._ He'd thought... _just like he'd done to so many others..._ and make her to accept her place with him.

_If only it weren't for all her anger... her sarcasm... her bitterness. _

And, this last time, the angry and bitter words that she'd hurled at him had hurt him, deeply.

_This wasn't supposed to happen._

Now, Marcus' spontaneous, enraged attack on Angel was all out of steam and it ended as suddenly as it began.

And, now, he was under the mistaken belief that he'd gone a little overboard with her punishment and that he'd accidentally killed her.

Simone was both disappointed and saddened by the - apparently - fatal outcome.

Simon had absolutely no intention, whatsoever, of killing Angel when he brought her here.

In fact, Simon had really put forth the effort to connect with Angel.

He'd really opened himself up to her.

He'd told her of his dreams for the two of them.

He'd told her of his plans for the future... for _their future _together.

He'd offered to give her anything and everything that she ever wanted...

And, he asked only one thing of her in return...

That she be..._ his_.

Simon didn't understand why she couldn't do that. Why wouldn't she agree to do that one little thing for him?

_Why not?_

Simon was constantly hounded by countless others who offered themselves freely to him...

So, why did this one... _his _Angel... constantly fight him so?

Why did she force him to punish her?

And, then, even after being punished... she would fight him... and fight him... and fight him.

Simon Marcus had dreamed of finding her...

He'd dreamed of so much with her...

But, he never dreamed of _this _happening.

_This wasn't supposed to happen..._

Simon leaned over Angel's still form. He picked up her left hand and kissed each of her three now-fractured fingers and then gently lay the hand back down.

He moved up to the side of her face. He brushed the hair away from her blood-stained cheek and he paused, briefly, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her.

He opened his eyes and saw that there was a fresh trail of blood still trickling down her cheek from the wound on the back of her head.

_One last taste..._

Simon placed his tongue at the base of the trail - at her jawline - and slowly, gently licked the fresh blood off of her cheek. A soft moan escaped from his lips and he shivered.

_Thank you..._

Then, he kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear...

_I'm sorry, my love..._

And he slowly stood up.

"Good-bye, my Angel." He said before he turned away, walked out of the basement and up the stairs.

On his way out of the building, Simon arranged for a few members of his flock to _gently_ carry Angel's body out of the basement and drop it off in the usual place.

He then picked up the phone and called the person who would take care of the body from there.

After hanging up the phone, Simon stopped to speak with his second-in-command, Jonathan, and passed on his final orders and his contingency plan information.

Following that conversation, Simon Marcus then left for Bay City and the fateful crossing of his path with the paths of two of B.C. Metro Division's Finest: Detective David Starsky and Detective Kenneth Hutchinson.

(T.B.C.)


	9. Chapter 12

Hello S & H Fan Fiction Friends:

Hope you're enjoying **The Messenger**.

***Please Note**: Chapter 9 continues the flashback to events that took place in Los Angeles, prior to Angel's arrival in Bay City.

Thanks For Reading!

Feel Free To Leave A Review(s)!

*My Eternal Thanks To Prolixius5, for her wonderful Beta work!

L.

(P.S. ~ An Extra Thank You to Brook5 and Prolixius5 for their reviews!)

* * *

**The Messenger**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 9

* * *

The place was well-outside of Los Angeles and definitely in the middle of nowhere. There were no homes nor businesses to be seen - in any direction. No heavily-traveled roads. No gas stations. No tourist destinations. Just rolling hills dotted with trees and the occasional wild animal.

Undoubtedly, _if_ the extremely rare passer-by were to come through this place... and _if_ they were to glance in the right ditch out of numerous ditches, they would have been shocked by what they'd seen. This one had a body in it. The still and silent form of a girl laying face down. Her body was fully-clothed. The hair on the back of her head was thick with drying blood and there were bloodstains on her clothing. The right forearm and hand were hidden underneath the torso, but the left arm was bent at the elbow and laying - palm up - on the lower back. There was some knotted and cut rope still wrapped around the bruised and bloody left wrist. The three middle fingers of the left hand had obviously been broken.

But, no one ever happened by this out-of-the-way place, especially after dark. Which made it the perfect place for Simon Marcus and his L.A.-based band of murderous followers to dump the occasional body. Besides, it was only a temporary stopping point. Because, like clockwork, shortly after the arrival of the body, Simon Marcus' _cleaner_ would come by to retrieve it and - in no time - it would disappear... without a trace. The efficiency of the process was such that - although the L.A.P.D. and other law enforcement agencies may have had their suspicions about a number of reported missing persons and the possible direct involvement of Marcus and his flock - they had yet to be able to gather any concrete evidence of foul play... let alone murder.

This time, though, things weren't exactly what they appeared to be.

This time, things didn't go according to the standard, long-standing plan.

This time, in spite of how it may have looked, the body in the ditch wasn't... dead.

Head injuries are notorious for bleeding heavily. And, when Simon cracked the back of Angel's head on that support beam - twice - the wounds definitely lived up to that productive reputation. Add to that fact that, after the second blow, Angel never regained consciousness nor showed any indications of responsiveness - it was no wonder Simon had convinced himself that he'd accidentally killed her.

And that one mistake was what saved Angel's life.

It was well after dark and Angel was completely disoriented. She felt as though - up until that moment when she'd come to - she simply hadn't existed.

Now, she was no longer lost in the infinite darkness and sensory deprivation of unconsciousness. And, after slowly regaining consciousness and awareness of her physical body, she realized that she was laying face down on the ground. A lightning flash of panic raced through her. The fear was in response to feeling as if she wasn't able to get enough air. And, now she knew why - laying face-down in the dirt can have that effect on the body's ability to draw in oxygen. She gently turned her face away from where it had been pressed against the soft ground and towards the side where there seemed to be nothing to interfere with her breathing.

Angel hadn't opened her eyes, yet. She didn't have a clue as to where she was - but, based upon how she felt overall as well as the number of nerve impulses that were registering moderate to high levels of pain - she wasn't sure that she wanted to know.

In spite of the pain, she tried to think.._._

_Keep it simple. The Basics... What are they?  
_

_Time?_ Well, she had no idea what time it was but that's not unusual for her. So, no big deal.

_Location?_ She had no idea_ where _she was.

_Current Stay?_ She didn't know how long she'd been there.

_Before Now?_ She had no clue _where_ she'd been prior to being _here_... _wherever_ '_here' was_.

_What day is today?_ If the answer "The one that ends with a 'y'." is incorrect, then... _Go Fish!_

It was all a big, empty slate. And it irked her to not know the most basic pieces - like what day it was.

That's one of the first questions - along with asking the person's name and who the President is, etc. - that medics, doctors and nurses rely upon to assist them in gauging the seriousness of a head injury.

_And, right now... _Angel thought, with increasing anxiety,_ I would do a stellar job of failing that test._

This unsettling realization not only got Angel's pulse racing, it also resurrected that unpleasant, quivering, electrical flash of panic from earlier.

Prior to her kidnapping and captivity, Angel was known, amongst friends, for being 'the calm in the storm' - although, she undoubtedly didn't remember this at the moment. Thankfully, remembering wasn't necessary, as her natural ability to maintain a certain grace under pressure kicked in all on its own. Angel recognized that - if she was going to get out of there and find help - she had only herself to rely upon. So, she tried to use practicality and a little humor to talk herself down from that panicked place.

_If the bottom suddenly drops out of your reality..._

_Or, if you happen to wake-up face down and concussed in a ditch...  
_

_Rule Number One: Don't Panic._

_And, if you can't do that... Then take a number and have a seat. Someone might be with you, eventually. ... Maybe. ..Yeah, right.  
_

She tried to think back... to remember... something... _anything_.

_First things first. Where am I? Come on, open those eyes..._

She'd taken several shallow breaths and slowly opened her eyes, although, it wasn't as easy as it sounds - something had caused her eyelids to stick together. When she'd pulled them open enough to see her surroundings... all she saw was an expansive and dark blur. She blinked a few times and closed her eyes in order to focus on her breathing and staying calm. When she opened her eyes again - yes, the vast and dark blur was still there - but, the smaller blurs had begun to come into focus and to take shape. Yet, despite the apparent improvement, Angel wasn't sure if she believed what she was seeing.

_Nah, that couldn't possibly be... _Angel squinted and peered at the narrow shapes.

_But, it was. Blades of grass_. _Right_ _in front of her face._ Actually, they were _touching_ her face... but why split hairs.

When Angel breathed out, she watched - in awe - as the blades of grass shuddered under her breath.

_So, why would that feel so significant to me?_

_Okay... The first thing that I remember is... nothing. Then, waking up here... there's dirt... grass... it's dark... and there's a luminous glow over everything... must be a full moon.._.

Angel looked again at the blades of grass and the clumps of dirt they sprouted from.

_Dirt... __Grass... the Moon means... I'm outside._

And, at that point, fuzzy, scattered images from Angel's recent past had slowly begun to return and flash across her mind.

The first image was, of course... _The basement._

Angel's throat tightened and forced her to cough. On her tongue, the familiar metallic taste of blood. She coughed again and spat out both blood and dirt.

_Blood?_

Coughing and consciousness increased the amount of pain registering in her brain.

"Ughhnn... God... My head!"

Angel could feel that some of her hair was matted and stuck to the back of her neck and behind her ears. And, the back of her skull felt like she'd been struck from behind with a sledgehammer. It felt so bad that she was actually afraid to touch it. She feared that - if she felt around with her fingers -she might find something back there that she wished she hadn't... like a hole.

Angel closed her eyes in response to the pain. She tried to stay calm and focus on her breathing.

She even repeatedly told herself that it was just..._ a headache... It's just a headache... It's just the... freaking Mother of all freaking headaches..._

The next image that flashed across her mind's eye was that of a man of average height; with long, dark, straggly hair and an ice cold stare. He was speaking to her, mere inches away from her face and he was smiling...

_You're mine now, Angel. Always mine..._

This image... _his_ face, _his_ words and, particularly, _his_ _voice _provoked a violent response in Angel...

_N.. No! _Angel gasped and choked and her entire body began trembling. _ Si... Si... _She opened her eyes, wide.

_Simon!_

Simon Marcus was the trigger. Now, the images and pieces of her memories began to join together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Now, they made sense to Angel.

_Si... Simon... Oh my God. Simon... _

Angel couldn't catch her breath. It was coming in quick, short, trembling hitches.

_Y..You f..finally did it. Y..You finally lost your p..precious self-c..control a.. and you beat the holy cr..crap outta me..._

She then paused to focus solely on calming her breathing. _Ok..kay, Angel. C..Calm down. H..Hypervent..tilating and p..passing out is n..not helpful._ Angel chastised herself.

She also tried to stop shaking - not an easy thing to do at the moment... _G..Good Luck with th..that!_

Angel gave herself a few moments - until she was able to once again breath more calmly. The shaking would come and go on its own. That seemed to be the best that she could at the moment, so she went back to piecing the puzzle together.

_And... if you beat the crap out of me, Simon... and, if I'm out here... I'm outside... I'm freaking outside your rotten hell-hole... then, you must have thought that you'd killed me! You psychotic freak!_

Angel looked at the ditch she was lying in... _Nice body-dumping job, asshole._

Angel was feeling lots of things... relief, disbelief, fear, joy, pain... and a fair amount of anger. She hissed under her breath... _Screw you, Simon! Go drain blood from someone else! Force them to..._

Angel's breathing choked, then. She stopped and shoved that memory down into some deep, dark corner of her mind and buried it. Tears rolled, unnoticed, down her cheek and she continued.

..._Torture someone else! Personally, I nominate Jonathan. And, I also second the nomination._

_I'm not dead..._ The thought was a revelation to Angel. She had to say it aloud. "I'm not dead." She smiled, remembering how she had pretty much given up on ever getting out of that place alive. "I'm alive."

Her smile quickly faded as doubts and fears began springing up.

The elation which accompanied the revelation that she was outside was tempered by two things.

First, by the near-blinding pain in her head.

The second thing was a sudden and paralyzing fear that - although she was, indeed, outside - she couldn't know... not with any certainty, anyway, that she really was alone out there_._

So, the fact that her body didn't want to move right away worked out just fine because the pain in her head and the waves of nausea in her gut weren't too keen on the idea either.

And, then, some traumatized part of her psyche began proposing a plethora of paranoid "What if's...":

_What if... I'm not alone? What if... Simon and his flock of freaks are just playing another one of their games? What if... this is just their version of cat-and-mouse? What if... they're out there, in the dark, just waiting for me to make a break for... I dunno... civilization? Just so they can ambush me, drag me back to the basement, gloat about it and then beat the hell out of me for trying to escape again?_

Angel caught her breath and closed her mouth before a cry could escape from her lips. She immediately froze and put all of her attention into listening, intently, to her surroundings.

She listened as she lay there, on the ground, motionless. She listened to the night that encircled her. She listened for the sound of footsteps... she listened for their voices... she listened for their damned, endless, brain-numbing chanting.

But, all Angel heard was the sound of her own heart beating - a bit too rapidly, she thought. That and her breathing - which, to her, also was too fast and too loud. But, other than that, there were no other sounds. No footsteps... no chanting. And, no freaks came to grab her.

All around her... there was only... dead silence.

Angel corrected herself_, __Wait a minute..._ _Don't say "dead"._

Angel opened her eyes and peered out into the darkness. Nothing. No lights nearby nor off in the distance. No signs of civilization. Nothing. She was - much to her surprise - alive, outside and completely alone.

And, the silence was deafening.

_Or, it might just be the blood in my ears..._

Angel's next thought wasn't the least bit funny.

_Simon and his freaks may be gone at the moment. But, they could also be coming back... for you._

That from the traumatized/paranoid part of her psyche again.

The thought made Angel laugh, nervously_. I would say that's utterly paranoid... if I was outside of Hell. _ _But, all things considered, a very good point.__  
_

Now that she longer felt that she'd been set-up, Angel decided to get out of there... wherever _there_ was.

She didn't know how long she'd been in the ditch, but she wasn't going to wait and see if Simon or his people would come back for her.

She slowly began to try to push herself up to a kneeling position. But when she pushed against the ground with her left hand, sudden and sharp shooting pains in the hand caused her to reflexively abort that plan and she fell back to the ground, onto her left side. She raised her throbbing hand in front of her to examine it and find the source of the pain. Luckily - or, perhaps, not so luckily - the full moon reflected enough light for her to see her fingers. Angel cried out when she saw that her index, middle and ring fingers were not only swollen... but they were discolored, crooked and definitely broken.

_You're full of surprises, Simon. You take 'certifiable' to new heights._

Then, two images flashed across Angel's mind. The faces of two different men. Angel's last two Ex-boyfriends. She flinched.

_I've had crazy__ boyfriends__. Two were physically violent. But, neither of them ever cracked my skull. And, they sure as hell never cracked my skull and then - as an encore, while I was unconscious - broke my freaking fingers!_

Angel cradled her left hand near her chest and used her right hand to push herself up to her knees. She did it a little too fast and the entire world began to tilt and spin. Then a strong wave of nausea overcame her. She dropped forward a little, leaning on her right hand and vomited blood and then just bile. Following that, she dry-heaved a few times. Then, as the dizziness and nausea subsided, she simply remained there and focused on calming her heartbeat again and steadying her breathing.

As she caught her breath, she realized that some old love song had been playing in her head.

The lyrics that stood out the most to her were these:

_"You always hurt the one you love - The one you shouldn't hurt at all.  
You always take the sweetest rose - And crush it till the petals fall."_

Angel didn't know what twisted part of her psyche was playing disc jockey.

Still, she had to laugh at it - despite it being painful to laugh.

_Must be my Dark Side... _Angel mused, as she spit out some more blood.

_Or something Simon would choose..._

She regretted thinking it immediatelyas her head injury re-asserted itself, painfully.

Her eyes had spontaneously filled with tears, but Angel steeled herself. She damn sure wasn't gonna cry. Not here. Not now. She'd allowed herself to think that there was, perhaps, a remote possibility that she might cry later... but only much, much, much later.

Right now, though, she had to get on her feet, choose a direction, start walking and hopefully find... a road... a gas station... a phone... something... someone... anyone... as long as it wasn't them... As long as it wasn't... _him._

(*T.B.C.)


	10. Chapter 13

Hello Friends!

Chapter 10 is the last of the flashbacks. They were necessary to set the background for upcoming events in the story.

Thank You for bearing with me. The boys'll be back in Chapter 11!

In the meantime, enjoy Chapter 10!

Thanks for reading!

Feel free to leave reviews!

And Thank You, Prolixius5, my very wise and priceless BR!

* * *

**The Messenger**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 10

* * *

Danny Oliver pulled his truck over by the ditch, stopped, turned the ignition off and just sat there for a few minutes. He had to prepare himself for what was coming next... he needed to psyche himself up for what he was about to do. He took several slow, deep breaths.

_It's just a job... _He kept telling himself. _Don't overthink it... It's just a job._

He'd known - when he his phone rang earlier that evening - _exactly_ who was calling and he knew, unfortunately, exactly what they were calling about. He'd pretty much developed something of a 'sixth sense' when it came to those particular phone calls. He just knew... he'd get a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach right before the phone would ring. Danny absolutely dreaded answering those calls... when he knew - beyond any shadow of a doubt - that _Simon Marcus _was going to be at the other end of the line_... calling in a favor._

_I shouldn't have answered... I just knew that it was him._ He chastised himself. _From now on, I'm just gonna stop answering the phone when I know it's him_. Then he laughed at himself. _Yeah, right, Danny. You do that. Just because those psychos know where you live... they know where you work... they know your truck... they know where your family lives... That doesn't mean that they'd do anything to you... that they'd hurt or kill you... or any of your family... Just because they have no problem killing other people... Yeah, Danny, it's not like you'd ever end up in that ditch..._ He laughed again, nervously. Not that he found the idea of him ending up another dead body in that ditch funny... nor unlikely - especially if Marcus thought Danny hadn't done as he was told.

Danny suddenly felt a deep chill and he shuddered.

He sighed, opened his door and exited the truck. He reached back into the cab and grabbed his heavy-duty work gloves and slipped them on his hands. He stepped over to the truck's bed and reached over the side, into the back and pulled out the folded-up tarp that he used for this particular kind of job. He trudged over to the ditch, dropped the tarp at his feet, pulled his flashlight out of his jacket, turned it on and shined the light into the ditch.

_What the...?_

Danny Oliver couldn't believe what he was seeing... or, rather, he couldn't believe what he _wasn't_ seeing. The ditch was empty. There was no body. He shone the light in every direction along the ground for several feet. Nothing. He slowly turned around in a circle, looking all around him. Nothing. No body. He was actually quite relieved. He really hadn't wanted to do this anyway. _What's that?_ He shined the light down to one patch of grass that had caught his eye. He stepped into the ditch to take a better look at it and brought the flashlight closer to the spot. _Yep, that's definitely blood. And, it looks pretty fresh, too._

He stepped back out of the ditch and looked all around, but he didn't see a sign of anyone anywhere. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and then scratched his head. He shrugged. _"Well, if they got up and walked away... that'll sure be a 'first'. And, if that's the case, good for them! I wish them the best."_ And, he meant that, sincerely. He turned off the flashlight and slipped it back into his jacket pocket, picked up the still-folded tarp and walked back to his truck. He dropped the tarp back in the bed and got into the cab. He popped open the glove box, pulled off his work gloves and tossed them inside. He closed the glove box and sat back in his seat. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and smiled.

_Yeah... Good for them, whoever they are. I hope that they're okay._

He started up the truck, drove away from the ditch and headed back towards the road and home. As far as Danny Oliver was concerned, it wasn't his problem if Simon and his people dropped off a body - under the mistaken belief that the person was dead - and then the person got up and walked away.

_No, sir. Not my problem. I just dispose of the bodies... I don't make them._ Danny said to himself.

* * *

Meanwhile, not far away, Angel had stumbled - literally - upon a road. She still couldn't see any signs of civilization in any direction, but there were hills off in the distance and she figured that they could be hiding the lights of populated areas on the other side. She was exhausted and dehydrated. The dizziness and nausea that accompanied the head injury would come and go and - at this point - her stomach was completely empty and she would only dry-heave when the feelings overwhelmed her. Finding the road motivated her to keep going. Even if it was unlikely that any car would be driving through. Just knowing that there was even the slightest possibility of it happening helped her to push herself and keep going.

But, there was also a part of her that just wanted her to sit down and catch her breath. A part of her that wanted her to take a break, rest, close her eyes and... maybe go to sleep... _just for a little while_. She was fighting off going into shock and was definitely a little delirious. Yet, she knew that she had to keep going. There was no way that she could allow herself to stop. No, she wouldn't stop. _Sure, I'm exhausted. And, yeah, I'd love to just lie down, curl up and go to sleep. _She looked off the road and to the right. _Right there, as a matter of fact. That spot looks nice... well, as nice as any other. But, with Simon having parted my skull, as a farewell gift.... I think that if I were to do that, I might not wake up. So, the answer is "No." No resting. No sitting. No sleeping. Not even for 'a little while'._

Despite her protestations and, although - at least for the moment - Angel wasn't willing to admit it to herself... she was on some level - looking forward to doing exactly that. In some deep, dark, exhausted corner of her mind, she was already anticipating the moment when she would... simply collapse... fall to the ground... with all of the fight and the fire gone from her. Then, she would just close her eyes and, simply, go to sleep.

_Then_, I will have finally escaped from Simon... _then,_ I won't be stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere... lost, bleeding and broken... _then, _I'd be...

_Dead! You'd be dead, Angel! D-E-A-D... Dead!_ She screamed out loud. _And, if you're dead... the freaks win. If you die, Simon wins! You cannot die... if for no other reason than because, if you do, then Simon wins! D'you understand that? You can't allow Simon to win!_

Now, the pain in Angel's head was pounding along with her heartbeat. She raised her arms to either side of her head. _Oh... God... Nn..Note to ss..self: When you have a cc..concussion, don't yell..._ She lowered her arms. She thought she was going to be sick, again. She heard a noise... a humming... she thought it was caused by her head injury. She was feeling dizzy, now, too. Then, she thought she saw a flash of light. The humming was getting louder.

_Oh boy... this can't be good... _

Standing on the road, Angel turned to her left, then - following the humming noise - turned completely around... and found herself standing in the bright, beaming headlights of an approaching truck... and she simply stopped.

* * *

Danny had just taken his eyes off of the road for a minute, as he leaned toward the dashboard to find a station on the radio that he liked. And, having had no luck, he shut the radio off. When he glanced back up at the road ahead of him, the vast and dark emptiness that extended in every direction... well, suddenly... it wasn't so... _empty_. Danny had never seen anyone out here, ever. Well, no one other than those whom he was sent out to make disappear. And, definitely, no one who was upright, breathing... alive. So, the last thing he ever expected to see was a girl... all alone... coming out of nowhere and appearing in the middle of the road... directly in front of his truck. Danny cursed aloud, "Damn it! What the hell..." and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes.

_Please... Please God! Please don't let me hit her! He hissed under his breath._

Braking so suddenly may have left traces of rubber from the tires melted onto the road, but Danny was able to bring the truck to a screeching halt, a couple feet in front of the girl.

Sitting behind the steering wheel, Danny struggled to get his heart to leave his throat and go back to where it belonged.

Then, he made a point to start breathing again... _In... and out... In... and out..._

Danny closed his eyes, briefly, and said, "I know I don't deserve any help from You... But, Thank you, God.".

He opened his eyes and looked at the lone figure that was, even now, still standing - dead center - in the beam of his headlights.

Now, that the crisis and near-disaster had been averted and Danny's adrenaline levels were leveling off, he was more annoyed than terrified and getting a bit aggravated.

"You would think that if a person were to find themselves - for God only knows whatever reason - standing in the middle of the road... in front of some approaching vehicle's headlights... that they would have the presence of mind... or the basic survival reflex... or even, just enough common sense... to get the heck out of the way!" he yelled. Danny hit the steering wheel with both palms. "Well?..." he looked at the girl and made an exaggerated shrug, hoping she would get the clue and move.

It was then that Danny realized that, from the moment when he had first seen her, the girl hadn't moved. She hadn't budged. She hadn't flinched. She hadn't blinked. She hadn't cried out. She had just stood there... like she was right now... She was simply standing there... bleeding.

_Bleeding?... Oh, my God... She's bleeding!_

Danny grabbed the wool blanket that was folded up beside him, opened his door and jumped out of the cab.

* * *

Angel hadn't known what to think... _Owwwuch!..._ Besides, it _hurt_ to think... It hurt to do _anything_... _Everything hurt_. She turned into the light and... what? What was she supposed to do? If she moved in any direction, the driver of the truck might decide - at the same moment - to try to avoid hitting her by steering in the same direction... and thereby hit her, anyway. And, if it was _them_? If it was them... _God, let them hit me._ Angel thought. ... _I don't want to go back there_. So, she had decided to simply stand there... and wait for the light.

_After all_... Angel thought - bathed in the illumination of the headlights ..._that basement had always been so dark..._ _this is a much better way to..._ She closed her eyes and...

The harsh scream of the truck's breaks filled the air around her... coming closer... closer... closer... then... nothing. The truck lurched to a halt a couple feet in front of Angel, kicking up dust, gravel and smoke.

_Damn_... Angel sighed.

_I don't get it... This must be a joke? _Angel thought _ A big, cosmic joke? Or, maybe... I'm already dead? That's gotta be it. That's why the truck didn't hit me... Because, I'm already dead... And, this place... this is definitely Hell_... she thought.

Then, just past the glow of the headlights, Angel caught sight of movement... shadow... a man... coming towards her.

_Oh n..no. P..please d..don't be them. P..please d..don't be S..Simon..._

* * *

Danny unfolded the blanket as he quickly approached the girl. As he stepped into the glowing circle of the headlights, the girl turned her eyes towards him and she flinched. Danny stopped. The girl looked to be in bad shape. She was shaking... trembling all over. Danny could see that her hair was matted with blood and there were bloodstains on her clothing. She was holding her left arm like a bird holds an injured wing - cradling it close in to her chest. If this was the girl that Simon's people had left in the ditch... How she ever made it this far...

_That'd be a real miracle..._ Danny thought _... If so, she's sure got heart!_ And, looking at her, Danny could tell that she'd been through Hell.

He felt compassion for her. And, he hated the things that Simon and his group have been doing. _You poor thing... God, Simon is such a sick freak! _ He decided at that moment that he was going to help her... if she'd let him... he'd take her to the hospital and as far as Simon Marcus was concerned... Well, what Simon didn't know wouldn't hurt her... _Besides,_ Danny figured, _Simon thinks she's dead._

"Hello..." Danny started in a calm voice. "I'm sorry if I scared you with the truck like that. Sorry for yelling at ya. Truth is, you scared the heck outta me. I wasn't expecting there to be anyone out here on this road... especially at night." The girl didn't respond, but, she didn't run away either... not that Danny thought that she was in the condition to do that. "I'm sorry... Where are my manners? I almost hit you with my truck, the least I could do is introduce myself. My name is Danny... Danny Oliver. What's your name?" Danny waited for her to answer.

* * *

Angel watched the man. He had stopped just inside the glow of the lights. He was holding a blanket. She peered at his forehead.

_Well_, _I don't see an upside down cross... _Angel thought to herself. _He actually looks rather clean-cut, with that short blond hair. Not at all like one of Simon's freaks_.

She was so tired. _What?_ The man was speaking to her._ Danny Oliver? ... Never heard of you. But, then, I don't remember..._ Danny Oliver then asked her name. _My name?_ Angel tried to think past the pain and the fuzzy, jumbled mess that was her memories._ Umm... Well, Simon called me "Angel"... _She flinched, as if she'd received an electrical shock, at the memory. _And, I have this silver bracelet on my wrist that's engraved "ANGEL"... _Other than those clues... Angel didn't have a clue. _Darn it..._ "A...Angel. I think..." she said... and her voice sounded far away, even to her.

_Well... _Angel thought... _maybe Danny Oliver will help me... maybe he'll give me a ride... seeing as he almost just ran me over... maybe he'll take me over those hills... take me back to civilization... help me to_ _get the hell out of this Hell_...

"Well, 'Angel. I think'... Nice to meet you. You... You look like you're injured. Like you've been bleeding. Well, actually, you _are_ bleeding. Will you let me help you? I mean... I've got this blanket here for you." Danny raised the blanket in front of him. "You're shaking... Are you cold?"

"N..no. I'm not c..cold. I just c..can't s..stop shaking." Angel replied, looking down at herself.

Relieved that he was getting semi-coherent responses from the girl, he continued. "Okay, you're not cold. Or, you don't feel cold. It could be that you're in shock. Could be exposure. If you'd let me, I'd like to take you to the hospital. Let them check you out. They'll help you. I'll help you. Okay?"

To Angel, Danny Oliver's voice had developed an echo. And, it sounded like it was moving further away from her... like _he_ was moving away from her. And, the thought of him leaving her out there terrified her. "P..please d...don't leave m..me out here!" Angel was beginning to feel like she was falling. "P..please help me!".

Danny ran over to her and was at her side to catch her when her knees buckled. He wrapped the blanket around her and lifted her up in his arms, "It's okay. I gotcha. You're safe now." he said. He carried her back to the truck and got her into the passenger seat. He put the seatbelt around her - being extra careful for that injured arm/broken wing she held against her - and then he got in, closed the door and headed for the nearest hospital.

By truck, especially as fast as Danny was driving, the nearest hospital was only 15 minutes away. He was sure that Angel had a serious head injury and that her fingers were broken. He didn't know what other injuries that she might have, but he knew that he shouldn't let her go to sleep. So, he kept talking to her. He explained to her that she needed to try to stay awake. She understood, but, after a little while, staying awake became harder and harder for her to do. From what he was able to get out of her, she seemed to not remember much beyond being kidnapped and tortured by Simon and his freaks.

"I'm so sorry that they did that to you, Angel." he told her.

"Yeah, me t..too. But, y..you know what? I'm just g..glad that you came by when you d..did, Danny. Thank you. Th..thank you for stopping. Thank you for helping me." Angel said.

"No problem, Angel. To be honest, I've done some things in my life that I'm pretty ashamed of... and I really want to start making up for those things." Danny confided.

"Well, y..you're d..definitely one of the good guys in my b..book." Angel said.

Danny pulled the truck up to the Emergency Entrance of the hospital. "Angel? We're here. You just hang tight. Stay there. I'll be right back, I'm going to get some help. Stay awake, okay?" he touched Angel lightly on her shoulder. She flinched and then nodded. "Okay." Danny opened his door and ran from the truck to the reception desk in the E.R.. He returned, moments later, with several of the staff and a gurney. By the time they'd gotten Angel out of the truck and on the gurney, she was unconscious. As they wheeled her into the E.R., Danny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, wrote his name and phone number on it and handed it to the head nurse. He explained that he couldn't stay. He made the nurse promise to give the note to Angel if... when she had recovered enough. She smiled at him and promised to take care of it. Danny thanked her and then left.

And, several days later, the nurse did as she promised and gave Angel the note with his name and phone number. She explained to Angel that it was from the young man who'd brought her to the hospital. And, after she was moved out of the Intensive Care Unit, Angel called Danny and - although he didn't come to visit her at the hospital due to the presence of the detectives and the fact that they weren't allowing anyone to visit her - they developed a friendship over the time that she was being treated.

* * *

When Angel had decided to sneak out of the hospital - against medical advice and without informing the staff or the L.A.P.D. detectives - before the news story broke, she called Danny and he agreed with her concerns about Simon's people learning from the news report that - not only was she not dead, but she was recovering and at that specific hospital. He made arrangements to pick Angel up at the hospital and told her that she could stay with him - for as long as she needed - no strings attached. Danny had progressively developed strong feelings for Angel - he felt very protective of her... and perhaps he felt something more than that. But, he held that back and he didn't tell Angel that he might have feelings for her - as more than friends. He didn't want to push himself on her. After all, Danny understood better than anyone how much Angel had been traumatized by Simon and Jonathan. He had spent plenty of sleepless nights trying to avoid getting punched and/or clawed by Angel as he tried to calm her down after she'd awakened from one of her recurring nightmares. And, there was the fact that she didn't like to be touched and - although Angel would try not to - she flinched every time that Danny touched her or brushed against her.

And, so, Angel stayed in hiding at Danny's for a couple of months - until she heard the news that Simon Marcus had been arrested, tried and convicted in Bay City. Reading that Simon was in prison was a great boost to Angel's emotional recovery. And, once she had recovered enough physically to travel, Angel explained to Danny that she had to leave Los Angeles. She couldn't stay in hiding at his place forever and she definitely didn't want to risk running into Jonathan or any of Simon's numerous freaky, L.A.-based followers. Besides, she had some relevant information that she needed to get to the authorities in Bay City that would be of great interest to them... if she could get them to believe her. She was so grateful for all that Danny had done for her. He'd saved her life, opened his home to her - giving her a safe place to hide - and he'd also retrieved her beloved skateboard from the locker in which she'd stashed it at an L.A. bus station.

Danny had insisted on driving her to the Greyhound Bus station to see her off. He'd also bought her the ticket to Bay City and given her some traveling money. (Yes, he had feelings for her. But, that wasn't the only reason that he'd helped Angel. Danny knew that he had done a lot of bad things in his life and - as he saw it - this was one way he could try to make up for some of them. One of the other ways had been to stop answering the phone when he knew it was _them_ at the other end of the line.)

Just before Angel had turned to board her bus, Danny spontaneously went to throw his arms around her and hug her... but, he saw Angel catch her breath and stiffen and he froze. Angel looked in his eyes... she looked at his chest, shoulders, arms. Then she bit her lower lip and swallowed and said, softly, "... It's okay...".

Danny wasn't sure if she was talking to herself or to him nor to what she was referring... "What's 'okay', Angel? Are you saying that to me or to yourself?".

She looked back up at his eyes and said, "Both... To you and to me. It's okay. You can hug me."

Danny smiled, yet hesitated. "Are you sure about this?"

Angel paused, thought about it and then replied, "Yes. I'm sure.".

Danny looked Angel in the eyes, smiled some more and spoke slowly, "So, just to be sure we understand each other here... What you're saying is that... if I hug you - in the next few moments - you're absolutely sure that you're not gonna cock your arm back and then punch me... am I right?"

Angel smiled. "You're never gonna let me live that down are you?" She was referring to an incident at Danny's when - after they'd both learned of Simon's conviction on the news - Danny had come up behind Angel and hugged her... and she'd reflexively drawn her arm back and slugged him.

"Well, I did have a black-eye for a week..." Danny teased.

Angel rolled her eyes. "You're lucky that I missed your nose. Now, _yes,_ Danny I'm sure that _no, _Iam _not_ going to hit you _if_ you hurry up and hug me and make it a _real_ quick one." Angel then closed her eyes, clenched her fists at her sides and held her breath.

Danny threw his arms around her and - in his exuberance - picked her up of the ground... at which point Angel's eyes flew open and she blew her breath out. "Danny..." she began. "Danny..." a little louder. She took a deep breath, opened her clenched hands and placed her palms on either side of him. _Okay... that's enough, now... _Angel thought.

Then, Danny began to spin Angel around and... _Now,_ _that's really enough_... "Danny, stop..." not loud enough. Anxiety began building in Angel.

Angel turned her mouth towards his ear, "Danny, if you don't put me down right now... I won't be held responsible for what I might do to you...". Danny heard her that time. He immediately stopped, set her back down on the ground and apologized. Then, he pretended to cower and cover his face. "Ha... Ha... Stop it, Danny. Get up, will ya?" He stood back up. "I gotta go now." Angel said. "You take care of yourself, okay?" she looked him in the face.

"Me? I'll be fine. I'm not the one who was in the hospital... remember?" Danny grinned.

"Yeah, I remember. And, I won't forget... you. Thanks, Danny."

"You're welcome, Angel. Anytime you need rescuing... just let me know."

"I'm hoping that it was a first and a last-time thing... but, I appreciate the gesture."

"Go on... hurry up and get on that bus... Or, you're gonna see a grown man cry."

"Okay, Danny. Thanks... for everything."

"Don't mention it... to anyone. Just call me when you get there, okay?"

"Gotcha. I'll call you... number's in my jacket pocket. Talk to ya soon."

"Bye, Angel."

"Good-bye, Danny."

And, with that, Angel boarded the bus. As the driver closed the doors, Danny turned away so that Angel wouldn't see that he had tears in rolling down his cheeks.

* * *

After the bus pulled out of the lot, Danny returned to his truck and drove home. He pulled into his driveway, turned off the engine and looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. "Damn it..." he hissed under his breath as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He opened the door and stepped out of his truck. "I'm gonna miss you, Angel..." he said as he turned around - only to discover that he wasn't alone... at least not where he was standing in the driveway.

Danny glanced around as casually as he could, considering his heart felt as if it was about to pound its way out of his chest. He quickly realized that he was cut off from all of his potential escape routes - at least for the moment. His truck was right at his back - locked up tight. Directly in front of him, there was a mountain of a man now blocking his view of the street that he'd just turned into the driveway from. He was at least 5" taller than Danny, broad in the shoulders and the fabric of his clothing was straining to contain his muscular build. He spoke with one of those low, deep, resonating voices... one of those voices that - when the person speaks - you can actually _feel_ their voice as well as hear it. And, it was a voice that Danny recognized immediately and which sent his adrenaline pumping.

It was Jonathan, Marcus's second. And, he was smiling like the cat that had found the canary... not a pleasant smile.

"_Angel_, huh? Danny-boy? What a coincidence! It just so happens that she's exactly the person we're looking for and whom we came to see you about. Long time no see, Danny. How's the family? We just drove by your folks place. Saw your sister leaving to run some errands. We thought about giving her a ride... you know... picking her up? But, we decided to come over and see you first. We'd have called but..." Jonathan paused, as if he were remembering something. Then sarcastically said, " No, wait. Actually, we _did_ call... apparently you've stopped answering your phone."

"So, we - you know, Simone and the family - we got kinda worried about 'cha so... me and my friends here made a special trip over here just to make sure that you were okay...".

Jonathan had also brought company. There were five other men - well, five that Danny could see from where he was standing - who had formed a semi-circle around him.

"Yeah... Hey Jonathan. Sorry 'bout you not being able to reach me. Actually, I've been dealing with a personal matter... a family emergency. You know how it is... A crisis with a family member. If you must know, I've been taking care of someone..." Danny said.

Jonathan sighed and shook his head, slowly, as if he were a disappointed parent talking to a child, "Danny... Danny... Danny."

"You know what? That's what we had figured. Particularly, after we heard the news report about a certain Jane Doe who had been dropped at the hospital a short while back... by an unidentified man driving a late model, black pick-up. You might have heard about her... cracked skull, three broken fingers on her left hand, various healing as well as recent cuts, bumps and bruises. Oh, yeah... had a silver bracelet on her left wrist that said "ANGEL". And, what else? Hmmm.... Oh, that's right! _She was supposedly dead and buried._" Yet, she lives and only very recently disappeared without a trace."

Jonathan then put his sizable arm around Danny's shoulder and pulled him close, "Let's step inside and have a brief talk about this 'family crisis' of yours. You see, Danny... Simone knows... Simone always knows." And, with that ominous statement, Jonathan bent his elbow tightly around Danny's neck - threatening to cut off his air supply with just a flex of his elbow - and forcibly walked him to his front door with five of his associates bringing up the rear...

(*T.B.C.)


	11. Chapter 14

Hello S & H FanFiction Readers!

Drum roll, please...

The boys are back!

Enjoy

Feel Free to leave Reviews!

Hearing from you keep me energized and fuels my creativity!

Thanks So Much!

L.

*Thank You, Prolixius5! (My Wonderful BR) Your guidance and encouragement means the world to me!

* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 11

* * *

The brief burst of energy that had carried Starsky into Metro that morning was already bottoming out. His lively, caffeine-fueled 'second wind' was definitely showing signs of having all but come and gone. After the meeting in Captain Dobey's office, he dragged himself slowly over to his desk - he felt as if he were moving through molasses - as he found himself, once again, trying to stifle a string of yawns. He dropped heavily into his chair as he blew out a long sigh. The sleep deprivation - a by-product of his Marcus "Family"-related nightmares - was starting to get to him. He yawned again, shook his head and rubbed his dry, bloodshot eyes.

After Hutch had left Dobey's office and closed the door behind him, he'd hung back a little to watch - with growing concern - his obviously exhausted partner as Starsky slowly made his way to his desk. After Starsky was in his chair, Hutch walked up behind his best friend and tousled his hair. "You gonna make it through today, there, partner?" Hutch asked in a neutral voice. Starsky only grunted in response. "Was that grunt an 'affirmative' or a 'negative'?" Hutch asked. "Huh? What? Yeah, Hutch. M'fine. Please stop hoverin', would'ya?" Starsky was still shading his eyes with one hand. Knowing it wouldn't take much today to get his partner in a sour mood, Hutch acquiesced and decided to make himself scarce for a little while, "You got it, buddy. This is me... _not_ hovering." and with that, Hutch casually walked out of the squad room to go answer the call of nature and then make a brief stop at the R & I department.

When Starsky opened his eyes, he found himself looking down at his desk blotter. He glanced at the numerous and varied drawings that decorated the blotter's border. Each work was a one-of-a-kind, _David Michael Starsky Original_. The artist smiled to himself. The doodles had spontaneously appeared over time, each one was a by-product of a very bored Detective Starsky. One day, the blotter was brand-new, clean and unmarked and then, the next thing Starsky knew... a doodle had popped up on the formerly white paper. Shortly after the first one appeared, it was followed by a second. And then, another and another until... Well, until he ended up with the busiest looking blotter in the squad room. Too bad none of it was really squad-room business or case-related.

The first doodle had appeared when he and Hutch had, unfortunately, found themselves stuck indoors, behind their desks, filling out reports or doing some kind of mind-numbingly mundane, monotonous and _boring_ bureaucratic paperwork. And, if Dobey happened to make a point to tell Starsky that he expected the reports to be typed - with correct spelling, no grammatical mistakes, nothing scratched out and then hand-written... in _triplicate_? _The man must believe in miracles! _Starsky would laugh to himself and roll his eyes...

_Talk about your cruel and unusual punishment..._

Starsky hated doing paperwork. And, if it was possible to be allergic to doing it, he was sure that he had that allergy. As anyone who knew him would tell you... Detective Sergeant David Michael Starsky was a man of action. He was driven to be out on the streets with Hutch... doing detective work and to be... well... _driving._ Fighting crime. Chasing down leads. Hunting down criminals. Happily making the bad guys of Bay City... _really nervous_. Make 'em just twitchy enough that they'd regularly feel compelled to look back over their shoulder... _twice._ Anything less than that was sheer... _torture_. Starsky frowned at his choice of the word. Okay, it wasn't _torture,_ exactly. Since his kidnapping and captivity at the zoo, where Starsky had personally experienced genuine physical and mental torture, he usually was more conservative in his use of the word.

_Anyway..._ Starsky shook his head, sharply... _I'm not thinking about that right now._

He returned his attention to the doodles on the blotter. A few of the cartoon-like drawings were caricatures of some of his fellow officers, a few were of the occasional perp... and a few were select stuffed shirts out of IA (Internal Affairs) Department with whom Starsky and Hutch had the displeasure of interacting with. For inspiration, Starsky always used something associated with the subject of his drawings... it could be their acknowledged nickname, a nickname the precinct had bestowed upon them, or a personality and/or character trait that was obvious to everyone, perhaps, but the person in question. There was a drawing of Captain Dobey, as a fire-breathing dragon. Starsky usually kept that one covered up. He glanced up at Dobey's closed office door and then he quickly moved the telephone so that it hid the drawing. There was a really funny one of that turkey, Bill Burton, out of IA as _Beldar Conehead_, a character Dan Ackroyd plays on the Saturday Night Live TV show. Underneath was a Burton/Beldar quote: _"I find you unacceptable!"_. There was also one of his buddy, Hutch, as _"The White Knight"_... Starsky yawned again. His vision was getting blurry, so he closed and gently rubbed his eyes. _'The White Knight'... Dobey... The D.A.'s Office... Marcus' Case... Huggy Bear..._ Starsky yawned again.

_Damn it! _He shook his head, in an attempt to clear out the fog that had developed. _Hutch is right, of course. _Starsky reminded himself. _I know that I've gotta do something about the sleep-deprivation. Yeah, Starsk... sounds easy enough... just stop having those damned nightmares about being tortured; about being strung up and slaughtered; about Hutch showing up to rescue me... but, showing up too late... about Hutch being tortured... _He banged the base of his closed fist on the desktop, lightly. Then, he jumped up and stalked over to the coffee pot, poured himself a cup, walked quickly back to his desk and sat down. He lifted the steaming cup to his lips and gently blew on the hot liquid. _Focus, Starsk. Work... Leads... Info... Huggy Bear._

After taking a sip of coffee, Starsky put the cup down and reached for his phone. He picked up the receiver with his left hand, propped it up between his neck and shoulder and was about to start dialing the number for The Pits, Huggy Bear's dining and drinking establishment when... he simply... stopped. Starsky closed his eyes to listen to some soft snippet of conversation that was repeating - like a whisper - in his head. Now, with his attention focused on it, he was able to make out what it was saying. He realized that it was something that Captain Dobey had shared with the detectives... about the missing girl...

"... she presented ...with numerous physical injuries and emotional signs ...indicative of having been tortured. ... had also been beaten and drugged."

That was all that Starsky's tired mind and fertile imagination needed. Before he knew it, his psyche had started offering it's two-cents' worth, as to how Marcus and his people might have tortured the girl.

At first, the ideas came to him as just words. Words... that began to refer to an increasingly unpleasant variety of methods and/or means of torture. Starsky thought of the childhood rhyme about _"Sticks and Stones:_

_"Sticks and Stones_

_May Break My Bones._

_But, Words Will Never Hurt Me"_

_"Yeah, right, Starsk. Stop... Just stop it..."_ Starsky told himself. But, much like the detective himself, his mind didn't just submit and roll-over when told the first time. Sure, the words stopped, but it wasn't because his imagination had caved in to his demand for it to "Stop.". It simply kicked the tension of the game up several notches... by instantly replacing the black-and-white, one-dimensional words with a series of ghastly, full-color images. Even after Starsky had opened his eyes... the images were still there. And, they weren't only still images... some were like short film clips. Then, without warning, the images in his mind of the girl being tortured were suddenly replaced by images of a bruised and bleeding Starsky being tortured by Marcus' group. _Am I bleeding? _A brief flash of panic tore through Starsky as he drew in a raspy breath through a tightened throat that sounded choked. He glanced at his arms and wrists and was horrified to see the wounds on his wrists re-opened and blood running in trails down and off of both of his arms leaving crimson drops and small scarlet pools on the blotter. Finger-like rivulets of the red fluid extended from some of the pools and were already running off the edge of the desk and spreading on the floor.

_Oh... my... God..._

Starsky struggled to reverse the sudden panic building in his chest. He glanced around at his one else seemed to notice the horror that was going on in the squad room. He took a few slow, deep breaths and then reviewed what he was perceiving as rationally as he could.

_I've spontaneously started hemorrhaging... while sitting at my desk in the squad room at Metro... and it's business-as-usual for everyone around me? No, this just can't be real... none of this is really happening! I'm just overtired and only imagining it._

He scrunched his eyes shut, took a few more deep, cleansing breaths and when he opened his eyes... it was all gone. The re-opened wounds, the blood that was running down his arms, all over the blotter and onto the floor... was simply gone... or, rather, it had never really been there.

_Come on, Starsk. No cracking up on the job. You remember being in Cabrillo State - the mental institution. No repeat performances, thank you._

He dropped the receiver back in its cradle and drew both of his arms in front of him - elbows on the desk blotter - closed his eyes and pressed his hands over the front of his face. Although his fingertips had started out at eyebrow level, as he slowly dropped his chin, they slowly moved up until they ended up completely buried in his thick, dark curls... and then Starsky gripped his hair in two fists. At the moment, he felt like there was a sharp stone in the pit of his stomach.

"No...", Starsky said to himself, "Definitely not here... and definitely not now...". He told himself that he wasn't going to think about the stuff of his nightmares. He wasn't going to think about being held captive at the zoo. He wasn't going to think about the various ways that he'd been tortured by Marcus' fanatical followers. He wasn't going to think about how they had strung him up - by his already raw and bleeding wrists - in the aviary that last morning. He wasn't going to think about how - just moments before Hutch arrived - the freaks were pretty much drooling in frenzied anticipation of stabbing, hacking and bludgeoning him to death.

Suddenly, a vivid, yet blurry image from his ordeal flashed - lightning-fast - across his mind's eye. Starsky's conscious mind didn't catch a glimpse of the fleeting image. Although, apparently, his body remembered the experience, because the fleeting image caused an immediate reaction in the detective. His whole body jerked - as if he'd received an electrical shock - and before he could stop it, a sharp "No!" escaped from his lips. He reflexively pushed with his legs to launch himself away from the disturbing image... and his chair slammed into the file cabinet behind him. The sudden and unexpected impact startled the detective and - thankfully - pulled him out of the Hell that was his memories of his tortures at the zoo. He looked up and glanced around.

_Whoa! Did I fall asleep? Or, was I awake and having a nightmare? Whichever... it could've been really embarrassing._

Starsky was thoroughly relieved to see that none of his fellow officers had been in the immediate vicinity to witness his spontaneous, emotional and loud outburst. And, if anyone else - whether they were passing by or standing in the hallway - had noticed... thankfully, they were doing a bang-up job of appearing to have missed the whole, embarrassing event. In Starsky's mind, the last thing that he needed was for any of his co-workers to start questioning his sanity or his fitness or ability to do his job. Because, regardless of the true status of his sanity... Starsky snickered_... or of the lack thereof..._ he knew that he absolutely had to keep his job. He had to keep himself busy... he had to keep himself active... to keep solving cases... to keep working the streets... to prevent his psyche from having enough free time to start dredging up those memories of his own personal Hell. Starsky would do whatever was necessary to keep his job... if for no other reason than that it was his anchor... No, not _anchor_. Anchors _sink_, Starsk. It was his _Life Preserver_. And, Starsky felt that the job was the only thing that was helping him to hold on to what he desperately hoped would continue to pass for his sanity.

Starsky took a deep breath and blew it out. Then, he tilted his head to the left so that his left ear was over his left shoulder... until he heard a _pop_ and then, a little further... until he heard a second pop. Then, he did the same on the other side. He tilted his head to the right - until he heard a _pop_... and then a little further, until he heard the second pop. He didn't know if popping his vertebrae like that actually accomplished anything... but he always felt better after he did it. At the very least, Starsky felt it was a good distraction. He then picked up the mug of coffee, drank half of it and then put it back down on the blotter. He grabbed the phone, picked up the receiver and dialed the number for The Pits, Huggy Bear's funky-fine dining and drinking establishment.

_Work, cases, leads... focus on the job... no time for anything else._

"Hello? May I speak with Huggy? Mr. Bear. With Huggy Bear! No, I don't have the wrong number. This is The Pits, right? Well, then, you gotta know him. What... What was that? Ahh, Miss, do you kiss your Mother with that mouth? Yes, you do know him, sweetie. He's the tall, fairly good-looking, slim brother who owns the joint... Huggy... that's right... your boss. Yes, thank you. I'll hold." Starsky rolled his eyes and growled under his breath, "Patience... Breathe... She must be new.". He tapped his fingers on the blotter for a few seconds, as he waited for Huggy Bear... or anyone... to pick the phone up again on the other end. Then, Starsky had a brilliant idea...

He opened the middle drawer of his desk and grabbed a pen. He closed the drawer and glanced around the desk blotter for an undecorated space. Finding a small area of canvas underneath a clipboard, he began drawing a frame around the edges of the space... preparing it for a doodle of Huggy Bear. Then, Starsky heard the voice of the man, himself...

"Bonjour. This is Chez Huggy. Also known as The Pits. Would you be interested in delightful dining or debauched drinking?".

_You can always trust Huggy Bear to make life a little more interesting... _Starsky thought to himself and smiled.

"Hey Hug... It's Starsky."

"Starsky? And, how are you doing, my curly-haired, crime-fighting brother?"

"I'm doing... I guess. How 'bout you? My sleuthing skills are telling me that you're breaking in a new waitress."

"I'm only getting more fine with the passage of time. And, your skills are telling you no lies. That would be Marlene. And, I'm trying to break her in gently without getting her angry enough to try to break me."

"Marlene, huh? Pretty name. Is she a good-looking woman, Hug?"

"Starsky, my man... Have you ever known me to hire anything less? That would be bad for business. And, above all else, I am a businessman."

"That you are, Hug. And, I know for a fact you've given Hutch and me _the business_ once or twice since we first met..." Starsky smiled, thinking fondly of these memories."

"Nah, Starsky. Not you, my friend. Not ever. We've been tight from day beginning. But - and I beseech you to keep this under your hat - I may have pulled the wool over Blondie's eyes once or twice. But, that was way back when you first introduced us. At the time, I hadn't decided if he was good enough to be your partner or not. I wouldn't do it to him now. I think of both of you guys as brothers... ya dig?"

"I dig, Huggy. Same here... you know that. Listen, Hug, I gotta few questions for you. You gotta minute? Or is Marlene gnashing her teeth?"

"Ask away... and you shall receive... if I got anything to give, that is. And don't you worry about Marlene. I made sure to have someone here as my backup, just in case."

"Wow, Huggy. Marlene must be _really_ good-looking, for you to go through all that trouble."

"Staaarssk... Lady Marlene is a 'work of art'... with all the _assets_ one would hope to find."

"Good ta hear, Hug..." Starsky paused, his pen poised above the mini canvas he'd staked out on the desk blotter, "Say, Huggy... speaking of 'works of art', I've got one quick non-case related question to ask you first: D'ya have any other nicknames?...".

While Starsky spoke with Huggy, Hutch - who had been about to re-enter the squad room when he observed Starsky behaving oddly... that is, oddly, even for Starsky - stepped back from the doorway, turned away from the squad room and headed for the men's room - again. Although, Starsky hadn't seen Hutch... Hutch had seen Starsky... and he was having a little difficulty understanding exactly what he had observed... what had just happened with his partner in the squad room.

_What the Hell... was that?_ Hutch asked himself. He'd seen what he could only describe as a wave of terror suddenly come crashing down over his partner... seemingly saturating the historically fearless detective to his very core. And he was looking at his arms, his desk and the floor as if he saw something more than just his arms, his desk and the floor... and whatever it was had terrified him.

Hutch knew Starsky was sleep-deprived...

_Perhaps his partner had simply unintentionally dozed off at his desk and was sleepwalking through one of his nightmares? Or, was it that Starsky had actually been awake and experienced some sort of hallucination?_

Hutch momentarily flashed on a memory from a case that had the detectives working undercover at Cabrillo State - with Starsky presenting himself as a mental patient and Hutch's cover was as a nurse. The memory was an image of seeing his partner - at one of the numerous times that the staff of Cabrillo overreacted to Starsky's antics - forcibly sedated and put into restraints_. No... He's not... that. He's just exhausted._ Hutch told himself, trying to assuage fears that he hoped were unfounded. And, now, Hutch needed to go splash some cold water on his face. Then, he would try to figure out what he was going to do. And, then, on to how he was going to get Starsky to talk about whatever it is that was making the man act a little... well, _crazy_.

(*T.B.C.)


	12. Chapter 15

Hello Fan Fiction Friends!

Chapters 13 & 14 are coming soon.

Enjoy!

Thanks For Reviewing!

(Reviews are the caffeine in my coffee!)

Thank You, Prolixius5! (My Blessed Beta) You are an Angel! :)

L.

* * *

**The Messenger**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 12

* * *

"See you later, Danny-Boy.", Jonathan snarled through a wicked smile as one of his 'friends' opened and held the front door for him. Jonathan stepped across the threshold and started to walk away, then he paused and turned back around. He stalked back over to where Danny was sitting on the floor - held there by the two men who each had a hand on top of his shoulders - and stopped, squatted down in front of him and said - in a low, rough, growl that rolled through Danny like a storm wave through the ocean - "Uh, Danny... On second thought... You don't want us to have to come back and see you later... or _ever, for that matter_. Therefore, I'd _strongly_ suggest that you answer the damn phone when we call." Jonathan lifted Danny's chin so that he couldn't not look him in the eyes. "I'm only telling you this as a _friend_, Danny-Boy. It's in your best interest... and the best interest of your family and... that _really_ cute sister of yours.".

As soon as Jonathan made the blatant threat against his sister, Danny had tried swing on him, but was stopped by one of the men that were holding him. Danny's face was covered in a myriad of cuts and bruises, his bruised nose was bleeding and blood continued to pour, unabated, from his mouth. The warm, bright red liquid flowed down his chin, saturated his shirt, stained his jeans and pooled on the floor in front of him. His breathing was labored. The path of destruction left in the wake of Jonathan and his friends' visit didn't begin and end with Danny, though. He sat - angry, in agony and occasionally gagging on his own blood - in the middle of his tossed and trashed home.

They had left nothing untouched. The kitchen table and chairs, the sofa... all of the furniture was turned over, every drawer had been pulled out and dumped, framed photos had been knocked off of the walls, papers were strewn everywhere. The adrenaline coursing through Danny's system had him shaking. His emotions were a pain-filled, jumbled combination of anger, fear, panic, worry and hatred... hatred of Jonathan and his goons... hatred of Simon Marcus... and hatred of Danny, himself.

He opened his mouth to say something in response just as Jonathan whipped out his pliers and held them right in front of Danny's face - almost touching his nose. Danny stopped. Jonathan nodded to one of his friends, who then tossed a piece of cloth that had been fashioned into an ice-pack to Jonathan. Jonathan handed the pliers to someone behind him and placed the ice-pack against Danny's jaw. Danny, who had been fully-expecting to be struck with it, flinched. Jonathan chuckled and then put on a sad face. "Aww... Danny. That really hurts my feelings... that you'd be scared of me like that." he started laughing again and Danny felt his laughter like physical blows. Jonathan picked up one of Danny's hands and cupped it around the ice-pack and placed it against Danny's jaw as he let go of it.

Jonathan then stood up, walked back to the front door and turned around, briefly, "And, uh... thanks for your contribution to my little art project, Danny-Boy." Jonathan dangled his newly-acquired prize in a once-white, but now mostly crimson red, blood-soaked handkerchief. Its ends were tied together to create a pouch and secure his bounty - three of Danny's teeth... roots and all.

When Danny had flat-out refused to volunteer any information about Angel's whereabouts, Jonathan's 'friends' had taken turns beating him. Before the beatings began, Jonathan had told them not to break anything important - Danny's arms or legs, etc. - because they needed Danny to still be able to take care of any 'unfinished business' that the group might have. Danny had been very relieved to hear that they weren't going to permanently cripple him... Heck, he had been relieved that they weren't going to just kill him right then and there. But, the thought of having to go back to helping them by disposing of anymore bodies thoroughly sickened him.

When, after being beaten, Danny still wouldn't tell them where Angel's location or plans, Jonathan had pulled out an old, well-used pair of pliers. He walked up to Danny - who was being held in place by two of the men - and casually asked, "Where is she, Danny?". Danny had just shaken his head in response. "Huh? Cat got your tongue? Maybe we should make some more room for it in there?" Jonathan said, flatly. He nodded to the man standing behind Danny, who then proceeded to punch him above his kidney. As Danny crumpled to the ground, the three men took positions around him and kept him still. Danny was just having trouble breathing at this point.

Jonathan stood over the prone, bleeding man, "Okay, Danny. You get just one more chance. Then, if you don't tell me what I want to know... and tell me the truth... I'm gonna get to start messing up that pretty smile of yours". "Jonathan, I... I don't know where she went. Don't you think that if I knew where she was going that I'd have told you by now? Sh..she wouldn't t..tell me." Jonathan kneeled next to Danny's head, "Alright, Danny. Open your mouth and say, "Ahhh..."".

While three of Jonathan's goons held him down and as Danny screamed, Jonathan then took great pleasure - using that same pair of pliers - in extracting the teeth from Danny's mouth.

After extracting the first two, Jonathan had paused for a moment and said, "You know what, Danny? I'm making a necklace out of teeth... it can be variety of different people's teeth... or it can be just yours. You decide."

Danny had tears streaming down his face and thought that he was going to pass out from the massive amount of pain... or choke to death on his own blood... but, no such luck.

"I guess that I'm gonna need a few more of yours..." And, after pulling the third tooth out, Danny couldn't help himself...

He screamed out, "She's in B..Bay City... D..damn you! Angel's in B..Bay City!" and he then began to sob, as if his heart would break into a million pieces.

Now, Danny just looked at Jonathan and spat out the blood that had collected in his mouth to that point... not a small amount. Jonathan laughed again and pointed at Danny, "You just remember what I said, Danny." Jonathan paused, looked at his watch, then back at Danny. "But, you've got a few days during which you can take it easy... get some rest and recuperate. You might want to go see a doctor... or a dentist." Jonathan looked around the room and smiled, "... and maybe do a little housecleaning, huh? This place is a _mess_.".

Danny gave him a hateful glare. Unfazed, Jonathan continued, "Like I said, Danny, we're gonna be outta town for a few days... maybe a week. We'll call you when we get back from Bay City. Thanks for your assistance with straightening out our little... _problem_. I'll let Simone know that you were most helpful. I may not even mention to him that you were aiding and abetting our little Ang... our _problem_. See you later...".

And, with that, Jonathan and his friends left Danny... in misery... in agony... and praying for Angel to call him, immediately.

_That freaking, sick sadist!_ Danny thought to himself.

And, then he was struck with the full realization of what he had just done...

_Yeah, Danny. Exactly. They nearly killed her once. And, what? Do you still consider yourself Angel's friend? Well, what an absolutely brilliant friend you are to her! You just told them... No. Much worse than that... You just told that soulless freak Jonathan exactly where to find her. Oh... God..._

Danny slowly rose up off of the floor and stumbled to his bathroom and began retching... first bile, then blood, then... nothing.

And he prayed that Angel would call him so he could warn her.

_Please call me, Angel... Please don't let them... don't let Jonathan find her... Please, Angel... Please call me!_

(*T.B.C.)


	13. Chapter 16

Hello Fan Fiction Friends! **(*Chapter 13 was Updated at 8pm on 12/19/09.*)**

Chapter 13 is a little like Grand Central Station... Everybody's coming and going.

(You'll see what I mean.)

Hope you're enjoying The Messenger.

Thanks for reading!

Reviews & Feedback are Always Appreciated.

*Prolixius5: I must've done several things right to be blessed with you for my BR. Thank You!*

*janet brown, *brook5, *aussie mitcham & *prolixius5... Thank You for the Reviews & Encouragement! It means so much to me!*

* * *

**The Messenger**

By SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 13

* * *

Danny Oliver had withheld significant information about himself and his life - prior to meeting her - from his friend, Angel. Decidedly dark and disturbing details.

Initially, he'd had every intention of disclosing his past to her... eventually. He hadn't planned on keeping it a secret, indefinitely. And, as their friendship had progressed, Danny had assured himself that he would reveal it all to her... at some point. But, it never seemed to be _the right time_. He became adept at creating a variety of excuses to put it off.

He came up with lines like... _It's too soon after her ordeal, I'll tell her later. _Or... _Look how happy she looks right now... It's definitely not a good time._

As it turned out, it was never a "good time", because Danny had finally become paralyzed by the fear that, if he were to tell her everything about his connection with Simon Marcus and Marcus' L.A. 'family and tell her what kinds of things he'd done for Marcus... she would think of _him_ as one of the monsters... and would then want to see Danny about as much as she wanted to see Simon Marcus or Jonathan... which, of course meant _never._

Meeting Angel had been a pivotal experience in Danny's life. It changed the direction of his existence. On the same night that he'd found her on that road and brought her to the hospital, as soon as he got home, he immediately unplugged the phone that Simon Marcus called him on. And, more recently, after he'd read the news reports about Marcus' arrest, conviction, and the hearing in which he had been sentenced to serve nine life terms in prison, Danny was convinced that cutting all of his ties to the man was the best decision.

He felt like he was getting a fresh start. Angel, too, was starting over. She didn't want to look backwards. Thanks to the skull fracture Marcus had given her, all she could remember was her ordeal with Marcus and those were experiences that she desperately wanted to forget. So, she was focusing on looking forward... on starting fresh and making brand new memories. So, Danny rationalized, why should he look backwards and dredge up all of his past sins? Why not only look forward, instead?

When she'd announced her plans to leave Los Angeles and travel to Bay City, Danny had tried to psyche himself up and tell her everything before she departed. Unfortunately, the side of him that was afraid of losing her was relentless... and instead, Danny convinced himself that the arguments against telling her were sound, they were rational... they made sense.

_Okay... Hold on for just a moment. Think about this, before you make a terrible mistake..._

_Do you honestly believe that it's a good idea to tell Angel that your arrival on that desolate road that night wasn't a miracle? That it wasn't just an extraordinary coincidence?_

_Ask yourself a simple question..._

_How do think Angel will react if/when you tell her that it was the murderer/madman himself, Simon Marcus - the very person whom had kidnapped and tortured her and mistakenly thought that he'd killed her... the very same Simon Marcus who had called you on the phone to tell you, yet again, to drive out there to dispose of a body? To make it disappear?_

_But, in this particular case... You were told to drive out there to dispose of HER body._

_The only difference this time was that when you arrived... there was no body. And, that was all her doing. She'd had the tenacity, heart and sheer force of will to drag herself out of there and walk away._

_Angel may believe that you saved her life, Danny..._

_The truth is... You were out there because you were following Simon's orders._

_You weren't some "White Knight" who vanquished an evil sorcerer to rescue her._

_The truth is... You had driven out there to bury her... Your job was to make her disappear._

And that painful truth was the horrible secret that Danny had found utterly impossible to tell Angel.

* * *

Believe it or not...

Jonathan, Simon Marcus' second in Los Angeles wasn't _all_ bad...

Sure, he'd earned his position in the group because of his absolute and unquestioning loyalty to Marcus.

That... and the fact that he was a textbook _psychopath_.

Yet, that disorder didn't mean that he wasn't _practical..._ when it served his purposes.

Despite the fact that Jonathan blamed Danny, himself, for what he had done to him... he also felt that Danny was still an asset.

Well... perhaps not so much an asset, but Jonathan felt that he could still make use of him, anyway.

So, before he and his friends left for Bay City, he phoned one of his associates - a genuine M.D. who just wasn't licensed to practice medicine in California - and told him to go to Danny's to take care of his injuries.

After arriving at Danny's home, he stitched Danny's mouth up, cleaned and dressed his other wounds and gave him some painkillers and something to help him sleep.

Before leaving, the M.D. righted the upturned couch and he made sure that Danny had fallen asleep on it.

* * *

Back in Bay City, Angel stood in the phone booth dropping coins in the phone to call to Danny, having no idea about what had transpired earlier that morning between he and Jonathan.

Angel let Danny's phone ring about 10 times before she hung up the receiver.

Nor did she have any idea what was yet to happen...

* * *

Angel decided to continue her exploration of downtown and resumed walking. At some point, she wanted try to find a way to the waterfront. She'd always loved being near the ocean. She wasn't interested in going into the water anymore, though. The last time she was in the ocean - in the Atlantic Ocean - off the coast of Florida, in chest-high water - a shark had swam past her... close enough to touch, if she was so inclined. Since that experience, Angel has preferred to admire the ocean while standing on dry land.

The first thing on Angel's "To Do" list: Try to reach Danny again at another payphone. After that: Check out various hotels and compare their room rates, cleanliness, security. Also on the "To Do" list: Doing what Angel referred to as "Reconnaissance". Which, to her, meant scouting around: Familiarizing herself with the area, street names, how to get where, identify one-way streets, where to go for groceries, what places to avoid and to stealthily check around for abandoned, unoccupied buildings - that weren't dangerous or condemned - and which had accessible - and preferably hidden - means of entry. Basically, she was going to look for a few places where she could take shelter, hide-out, etc..

_No, I'm not being paranoid..._ Angel reassured herself.

_It's just one of my rules: Always have a Contingency Plan... just in case of an emergency._

Angel sighed, deeply.

_Who am I trying to con?_

She _knew_ that she was being a bit paranoid. She knew it and she _hated_ it, even though she had every reason to feel that way.

After being, momentarily, lost in her thoughts - trudging along with her eyes cast down toward the sidewalk - she stopped, raised her head and gave it a quick shake.

_Come on, Angel... Pay attention,_ she chastised herself as she looked around... and realized that she'd passed another payphone.

_I gotta call Danny..._

So, she turned around and walked back.

Angel had been wandering for a few hours by now and - feeling a little tired - when she reached the payphone, she turned to face the street.

She leaned back against the phone, took a deep breath and tilted her head up toward the brilliant blue sky... and couldn't help but smile.

"Now, that's beautiful!", she said. Then, she closed her eyes - just for a moment - reveling in the feeling of the sun's warmth on her face... listening to the wind as the soft breezes buoyed the fringes of her hair... Just for a moment...

Well... that was the plan, anyway.

And, everything _was_ fine... until Angel heard a voice.

Well, not just _any_ voice...

Until she heard _his_ voice...

The voice of her ever-present nemesis... the monster of her only memories... the inescapable entity that stalked her nightmares... _Simon Marcus_.

_Angel? Oh, my Angel... Did you really believe that you could simply walk away from us? That you could just walk away from me?_

Angel involuntarily gasped and her breath caught in her throat. She looked around... _Where is he?_

But, everything that was around her had disappeared and she found herself enveloped in pitch black darkness_._

"N...No." she whispered under her breath, "th..this isn't possible."

Simon Marcus' voice was soft, but certain. He spoke to her as a parent would speak to a child. His voice echoed all around her.

_What isn't possible, Angel? You're being silly and stubborn... again. And, you already know what being stubborn will get you, don't you?"._

Simon's whispered question was a none-too-thinly veiled threat... a threat of physical punishment... a threat of pain.

It worked. Angel began shivering, now... just as she had done - so many times - in that basement.

Simon continued his taunts...

_Don't you understand? You can't fight me. I was with you there... I am with you now... I am always with you._

Angel shivered and shuddered as she peered into the darkness. She saw nothing. She didn't know which way to go. Fight or Flight? Yeah, sure... But... in which direction?.

One thing Angel was sure of was that Simon Marcus could see her. Somehow, he could _always_ see her.

_Uh-uh-uh... There's no where you can run... there's no where you can hide... You can't get away from me, Angel. I'll always find you. And, you know why..._

_As I told you in the basement... and I'm telling you, now, my sweet Angel: You are mine. You will always be mine. Always mine.  
_

Angel froze, horrified. She stopped breathing. Her heart even missed a few beats, as she found herself, yet again, face-to-face with Simon Marcus. He glared at her with his icy, impassive eyes, he flashed a wide, wicked smile and then, he suddenly thrust out both hands to grab her.

Angel's racing thoughts were panicked, frantic and confused.

_N..No, Simon! You... can't be here. You're... in prison! You're... not here. I'm not... I can't be... here..._

Finally, Angel screamed out loud, "No! S..Simon! Get **away** from me!".

Thankfully, Angel's own terrified scream woke her up.

Often, her own screams were the only things that would wake her from her nightmares.

Angel's eyes flew open. Her pulse was racing, all of her muscles were tense and her breathing was ragged and fast.

Now, although she was fairly accustomed to waking up just like that - petrified and caught up in that 'fight-or-flight' response - Angel was surprised to find that she was no longer standing in front of the payphone. She was actually sitting on the sidewalk - at the base of the structure that held the phone - with her back pressed against it and her skateboard beside her. Her knees were up and her heels were angled down... she'd obviously been kicking at or pushing herself away from the phantom Simon.

_Damn it. I must've fallen asleep. I really hate when that happens. Especially..._

She looked around and saw three or four curious onlookers - all craning their necks to check out the show.

_Especially in public... _she acknowledged and shrugged - the color creeping up her cheeks... _Show's over, folks! _and she waved 'good-bye' to them.

Then, she slowly stood up, brushed herself off, picked up her skateboard and turned around to face the payphone.

"Please be there, Danny. Please answer my call. I really need to hear a _friendly_ voice.", Angel said, softly. She lifted the receiver, dialed his number, deposited the coins and then waited, with her fingers crossed, for Danny to answer the phone.

The phone rang once... twice... then...

"Hullo?", the sleepy, male voice mumbled.

"Well, hello, sunshine! This is Angel with your wake-up call...", Angel said with relief and happiness in her voice.

"Wha... Wake-up call? I didn't... Who is this?"

"I already told you, sleepyhead... It's Angel... A-n-g-e-l. You know... The head-injured, amnesiac skateboarder that you rescued. I may be taking a leap of faith, but I kinda doubt that there could be more than one person who fits that description."

"What? Angel? Angel? Is that really you?"

Angel thought Danny sounded a bit panicked, himself. "Danny? Are you okay? Once more... Yes, it's me. What's going on with you? You been drinking or something?"

"No... No alcohol... Just painkillers... and a sleeping pill..."

Now Angel was really concerned. "Wait a minute, Danny. Painkillers, sleeping pills? Are you trying to hurt yourself or something?"

Danny shook his head, trying to clear the pharmaceutical fog from his brain.

"No... I'm not. Jonath... Angel, please listen to me... They know."

Upon hearing the last two words Danny said, the 'inner Angel' began having one of those "free fall" experiences, momentarily. Angel steadied herself and considered what Danny could mean by "They know.". Then, it hit her... _the news reports_... _the Jane Doe-thing_... the whole reason that she left the hospital.

_If that's all... What a relief! _she thought_._

"Danny... It's okay. I knew they were going to do the news reports..."

Danny interrupted her, "Angel... No, that's not it. Stop for a minute and listen to me, please."

"Okay, Danny. Go ahead." Angel already didn't like the sound of this.

"They know, Angel. They know. Oh, God help me... _Jonathan_ knows. Angel, they know you're in Bay City and I'm pretty sure that they're on their way there..."

The instant that she heard Danny's words, an icy chill replaced the blood throughout her body. Her heart suddenly felt heavy and like it was "thudding" and off-rhythm in her chest. Now, it was Angel's turn to interrupt Danny. She surprised herself at how calmly and matter-of-factly the words left her lips, because _calm_ wasn't even in the same state as Angel was anymore.

"What do you mean, Danny? They might have heard that I'm not dead, but how could they possibly know where I am?"

Danny closed his eyes and sunk to his floor. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He took a deep breath - because he felt like his throat was going to close up - and said,

"... Because I told them. _I_ told Jonathan where you are. Angel, please forgive me. They _made_ me tell them. I'm so sorry! They were waiting for me when I got home. They beat me, he yanked out a few of my teeth... they trashed the house..._ I'm so sorry_, Angel... Angel?"

Angel had heard the beginning, the "Because I told them... I told Jonathan where you are."... but, she didn't hear the rest.

Her ears had started ringing so loudly by that point, that she couldn't really hear anything, including Danny. And she was getting that weird falling-on-the-inside, yet not-falling-on-the-outside sensation. She couldn't think. She thought was going to be sick. She wanted to scream and cuss, but she didn't want to call anymore attention to herself. She needed to go somewhere _safe_ to clear her head and think about what to do next. Angel was now feeling utterly 'whelmed' - as she refused to ever admit to being 'over-whelmed' - and it was more than enough at the moment.

When Angel spoke into the phone again, her voice had a flat, unemotional affect. She was just going through the motions, sort of like being on 'Auto-Pilot'. She wasn't angry, she didn't feel hurt... she didn't really feel anything at the moment.

"Uh, Danny? I gotta go. Thanks. Bye." She gently set the receiver back in its cradle and then she simply stood there, staring at it.

* * *

Angel was... _stunned_. Her mind was blessedly blank for a few precious moments, as she stood before the payphone.

_Well, I've always known that the only person whom I ought to trust completely, implicitly, 100%, with my life and without question/fail is... myself. That's the way it's always been. That's how it is. It's not a judgment, it's just a personal observation._

Unfortunately, the seemingly calm, thoughtful and unaffected response was not going to be lasting.

Angel felt a fine vibration throughout her body... could be from adrenaline... could also be blood pressure... or, most likely, both.

She closed her eyes. She breathed in to a count of 10. Then, she breathed out to a count of 10. She repeated the exercise one more time. It wasn't helping. She felt her muscles tensing. Unconsciously, she drew both hands into tight fists. She began hearing Danny's words play over and over again in her head,

"They know... I told them... I told Jonathan where you are..." "I am so sorry, Angel.".

Angel yelled, "No!"

"They know... I told them... I told Jonathan where you are..." "I am so sorry, Angel.".

"Damn it, Danny!"

"They know... _I _told them... _I_ told Jonathan where you are..." "I am so sorry, Angel.".

"How could you?"

Angel opened her eyes, opened her fists and struck the front of the phone with the base of her right palm and then she did the same thing other side with the base of her left palm. It just wasn't enough. She couldn't get any of the anger, the rage, the hurt... any of... any of it out. She had a lump in her throat that wouldn't go away.

She took a small step back from the phone, lowered her chin, clenched both of her fists, picked her target and said - in a soft, choked breath - "S..Simon.", and then struck the side of the phone with her right. She did the same thing with her left and then repeated the ritual - in rapid succession - a few more times. By the time she stopped, she had hot tears streaming down her cheeks and her breathing was coming out in hitches. She turned away from the phone and crumpled to the sidewalk, pulling her knees to her chest, burying her face on her knees and wrapping her arms around her head... and she screamed... silently. And, then she just let the tears fall.

Angel didn't really care about anyone seeing her or approaching her at that point... in fact, she was almost at the point where she wouldn't care even if it were...

_Well, let's not get carried away with ourselves... I'd rather... never mind._

"Having one of those days, lil' sister?"

Even though startled, Angel hadn't raised her head, but she figured that the male voice wasn't more than a couple of feet away. She took a shaky breath, lifted her chin and looked in the direction of the voice. Before her stood a tall, slender, charming-looking brother - dressed in a very colorful ensemble.

Angel sniffed, "Ah, excuse me? I didn't hear you."

The man doffed his chapeau, smiled and repeated himself, 'I was only inquiring if you were having one of those days, lil' sister?".

Angel couldn't help but to laugh, although it was a tired laugh.

"Yeah, I guess that you could say that." she replied.

"Well, I am sorry to hear that.", the man said, "And, how're your hands?", he asked.

"My what?"

"Your hands... the 'Terrible One, Two'... Lefty and Righty. I couldn't help but notice that that you were giving that payphone the beating of its life a few minutes ago."

Now Angel was feeling a little embarrassed.

"Oh, you saw that little sparring match, huh?"

"Yes, I did. And, I must admit, the phone looks like it could go another ten rounds without breaking a sweat. How 'bout your mitts?"

Angel squeezed her eyes shut to force out the last tears and looked at the smiling man, then drew her hands towards her. The were mottled red, a little bruised, swollen and dotted with cuts and blood.

"Well, it looks like the phone won that round..." Angel quipped.

The man took a small step forward to examine Angel's hands,

The man winced and shook his head, "Mmm... Mmm... Mmm... Perhaps you should've taped 'em up first?".

"I'll have to remember that... for the re-match." Angel said.

"Yeah... Or, if I may offer a suggestion: Pick a softer opponent."

Angel laughed again, "Yeah, that, too."

"Oh, pardon my part-time manners. The name's "Huggy Bear. I'm the passionate proprietor of a fine eating and drinking establishment... known the world-over as Chez Huggy. Around here, though, those in the know call it ''The Pits", it's just around the corner."

"Well, Mr. Bear..."

"Please, call me Huggy... all my friends do."

"Okay, Huggy, thanks. It's very nice to meet you. My name's Angel."

"Enchanté, Angel." "Enchanté, Huggy."

"Now, about those hands. I'd be honored if you'd accompany me to The Pits and - once there - you could clean and dry those cuts. I'll ask one of the girls who're waiting tables today to help you to bandage them... how does that sound?"

Angel looked at Huggy Bear, then at her banged up hands and back up at Huggy and smiled.

"That would be lovely, Mister... I mean Huggy."

"Right on. May I help you up?" Huggy began to reach for Angel, who immediately recoiled from his outstretched hand. He withdrew his hand and offered a quick apology.

"No... Huggy, no need to apologize." Angel said, "_I'm_ sorry. Please don't take it personally. It's just... stuff. Some ugly, in the past - but not quite - _stuff_. Ya know what I mean?"

"I can dig it lil' sister. No offense taken. Shall we leave the ugly past here and be on our way?" Huggy smiled at Angel and indicated the direction to The Pits. She smiled back and nodded. "Yes, we shall... even if it's only for a little while."

This time, Huggy stood aside and let her stand on her own. She picked up her skateboard - with a wince of pain - and joined Mr. Huggy Bear Brown and they walked together to The Pits. Along the way, Huggy asked Angel about skateboarding... her worst wipe-out, etc. Angel offered to give him some lessons... Huggy Bear had a good laugh at that... and then he graciously turned down the offer.

As Huggy opened the door to 'Chez Huggy', he motioned towards Angel's skateboard...

"Angel, I'd bet money that ya hear this one a lot: 'Say, girl... Do you really ride that thing?"

Stepping inside, Angel rolled her eyes and laughed, heartily, "Would you believe... pretty much every day? Several times a day, even."

Inside The Pits, Huggy introduced Angel to Marlene, who - upon seeing Angel's battered hands - lead the way to the bathroom so she could clean them. Huggy went behind the bar to get the first-aid kit and then all three met back at the table. Marlene gently helped Angel bandage her hands and they simply shared funny stories and laughed.

And, Angel was able to - if only for a little while - forget her troubles and nightmares... which was Huggy's intention from the start.

(*T.B.C.)


	14. Chpt 14

Hello Starsky & Hutch Fans! (***Please Note**: Chapter 14 was **Updated** on **Dec. 23rd** at 2:59pm.)

The Boys Are Back Again... And Just In The Nick Of Time!

Hope you're enjoying the **The Messenger**!

Thanks to all Past, Present and Future Reviewers!

*My Eternal Gratitude and Appreciation To Prolixius5 For Her Expert Beta Work!*

* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 14

* * *

Mr. Huggy Bear Brown was not only the proud proprietor of the modest Bay City eating and drinking establishment known as "The Pits". He was also quite the skilled raconteur. And having, himself, led a very colorful life, he had an infinite number of stories with which to regale any attentive audience. Huggy was also very street savvy and was pretty much always in the know, particularly when it came to being informed about what was going on in and around the many levels and layers that made up Bay City... and - if he didn't know who was doing it... he could undoubtedly find out faster than most. He also had a huge heart. He didn't wear it on his sleeve, but those selected persons whom he had deemed worthy and had become close friends with were fortunate enough to experience it. Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson were two such friends of Huggy's - although all three men constantly worked to keep their friendship low-profile - for obvious reasons.

In an amazingly well-timed turn of events, Angel found herself similarly honored by the man today. She had called her friend, Danny, in Los Angeles from a pay phone to say "Hello!". And she'd been stunned when he told her that he'd been forced by Jonathan to tell him that she was in Bay City. That was bad enough news, but it wasn't the worst he had to give. Danny had also warned Angel that Jonathan and a few of his 'friends' were on their way to Bay City and that their single purpose in life, at the moment, seemed to be finding her. The thought of that happening had momentarily put Angel in a state of shock.

She had somehow managed to hang up the receiver peacefully enough. Though, as an encore, she'd followed that with an attempt to take out her long held-back feelings of anger, hurt, fear, helplessness, rage etc. by sparring with the pay phone. It may not make sense to anyone else but, sometimes, the only means by which Angel felt any degree of release of some of the pain she felt deep inside, was to do something that hurt... even if it caused her to bleed. That said, bare-knuckle boxing with a pay phone was not the best way to release emotional pain or trauma, as Angel discovered. Nor was it a good idea, in general. As Huggy Bear had suggested to Angel, "Choose a softer opponent.".

She wasn't sure why she had felt comfortable enough to take him up on his offer of accompanying him to The Pits for some first aid for her banged-up hands... but she had. And, after Marlene had helped her get them bandaged up, they'd sat down at a table and gotten to know each other for a little while. Beyond the first-aid, Angel had also been in dire need of a distraction when they met. She ended up getting all of the above as well as making a couple new friends. And, as alone and 'whelmed' as she had been feeling back at the pay phone, this experience turned out to be healing for more than just her hands.

Before too long, business had started picking up at The Pits and a steady flow of customers were arriving. Marlene, who was new and was being trained as a waitress, had to get back to work. Bartending and answering the phone was keeping Huggy busy, now. Huggy had invited Angel to hang out, but she didn't want to be in the way. Besides that, she had an aversion to crowds. So, she went over to Marlene and thanked her for being such a good nurse. Then, on her way out the door, she thanked Huggy for his kindness and well... everything. Huggy told Angel that she was always welcome at The Pits and that, if she promised to come back, he might even reconsider her offer of skateboarding lessons. So, with that in mind, Angel promised Huggy that she'd be back. And, then, she left The Pits and went about continuing her discovery expedition of Bay City.

* * *

It turned out to be a much bigger place than she had imagined. Although Bay City was no where near as vast as Los Angeles... neither could it be categorized as a small town. Regardless, Angel wanted to - at least - familiarize herself with her immediate surroundings. As a part of her usual 'reconnaissance' routine, she took note of the locations of important places, such as bus stops, grocery stores, post offices... and pawn shops.

Well, okay... while it was true that pawn shops weren't _important_ places, per se... Angel still had a certain weakness for doing a little harmless window shopping if she found one. She particularly got a kick out of checking for any gaudy cocktail rings. Most often, she'd found nothing of interest in the windows. Occasionally, though, she would find displays of sparkling, chunky diamond and gemstone-encrusted baubles. Angel would gaze at them and feel a certain amount of awe that anyone could have parted with anything so breathtakingly beautiful.

She just so happened to be standing in front of one such pawn shop window, when a blindingly-bright flash was reflected off it from the street behind her. She'd reflexively raised her arm to shade her eyes and stepped back from the window. She'd known, in the instant that it had happened, that the flash had been caused by the overhead sun - reflecting at just the right angle - off of a vehicle's flat windshield. Angel used the pawn shop window to get a better idea of the types of vehicles on the street behind her. She wanted to avoid being struck by any more of the blinding - and potentially headache-producing flashes. She could see that, at the moment, traffic was at a standstill on the street. Angel quickly searched for any vehicles with flat windshields, specifically looking for those known to have flat windshields: Jeeps, Land Cruisers, delivery trucks and some vans.

_No Jeeps... No Land Cruisers... One truck... and one... van..._

Vans were very popular vehicles - particularly with hippies and flower children - and with smaller businesses that needed delivery vehicles, but couldn't afford trucks. So, Angel expected to see a van, maybe even two... But, she never expected to see to see _that_ van...

Angel stared at the reflection of just one vehicle. She slowly straightened her posture and inhaled what turned out to be a shuddering breath - the shaking began in her diaphragm and traveled up her chest.

The first thought that flashed through Angel's mind was of the 'worst case scenario' variety: _That's Simon's van..._

The second thought was a rational, informed response: _No, it isn't... Simon's in prison._

... Which might have been a comforting thought, if it weren't for...

_Jonathan._

Until this moment, simply thinking of Jonathan - who had been a constant menace, back in that basement, and who seemed to take exquisite pleasure in causing her pain... _Hell, Simon would, at least, apologize..._ caused Angel to flinch.

Now, as she stood by herself, between the van that - for Angel - had been nothing less than an unmarked entrance to Hell and the sadly - closed, padlocked door to the pawn shop... she was unable to stop the flash flood of stark images - all-too-recent memories of torture and abuse through Angel's mind. She tried to take a calming breath, but her efforts were hampered by a spontaneous, rapid burst of short, sharp pains in her chest.

_Okay, Angel. First Things First: Think Now... Panic Later... _she told herself_._

She pulled her leather jacket around her and zipped it shut. She had seen that the van's dark windows were rolled up. And, at least for the moment, it was stuck in traffic and not going anywhere fast.

_Rules out the possibility of high speed pursuit..._

Angel decided to casually walk away from the pawn shop - hopefully remaining unnoticed - and quickly move down the street, putting as much distance between herself and the van as possible. She knew that there were some one-way streets a few blocks away and that - being on foot or skateboard - she could go the wrong way... but the van couldn't.

Angel looked into the reflection and waited. But, this time, she wasn't watching vehicle traffic... she had her eyes on the flow of pedestrian traffic. When she saw a group of people that were about to pass the pawn shop - going in the direction that she wanted - she simply joined them, keeping in step with them and never looking back.

With each successive step, as she moved further and further away from the van, her confidence replenished itself. She could feel herself beginning to relax as a smile spread across her face.

But, the smile never reached her eyes.

For, in the next moment, a man's voice reached out to Angel. The voice struck her, rolled over and cut through her... shattering that fragile and barely-formed peace of mind.

It was a deep, low, resonant male voice that Angel knew all too well. One that she would never forget.

"Hello, Angel! What a coincidence! Fancy meeting you here! Wow! Long time no see!"

He paused.

"We, uh... heard that you weren't _dead.._."

_Jonathan... He always had a way with words... and with intentionally omitted ones... like the "yet" that is just dangling there, at the end of that last sentence._

In spite of being able to feel the rapid thrumming of the pulse in her neck, Angel willed herself to concentrate on maintaining a steady pace - rather than on the fact that another sadistic monster from her nightmares was no longer contained in the world dreams, but was now only so many yards behind her.

From out of the corner of her eyes, Angel could tell that some other people on the sidewalk had turned around to seek out the source of the booming voice. There was no way that she would do that. She could almost get away with telling herself that what she was imagining what she was hearing... that is, unless she were to actually look at him. She wasn't going to do anything that would indicate to Jonathan that she'd heard him... let alone that would indicate that anything he'd said had affected her in the slightest.

Angel knew Jonathan was a predator, and she knew he got off on terrifying his prey.

Another reliable character trait of Jonathan's was persistence...

"F.Y.I.~ We have a family reunion coming up... and you're at the top of the guest list."

Jonathan paused.

Angel tried to make light of the situation... _He_ _should have been an actor, for all the drama he creates..._ she told herself.

The humor didn't seem to have any effect on the fact that - right now - Angel felt like she couldn't breathe...

_Well, Jonathan did - on several occasions, back in that basement - wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze... until you passed out.  
_

Then, Jonathan landed a sweetheart of a sucker-punch...

"And, uh, _Angel_? Been talking with a mutual friend... Simone sends his _**love**_!"

Jonathan's words struck Angel like a physical blow... literally knocking the wind out of her. She coughed and gasped for breath as she stumbled for a couple of steps.

If she had been looking at Jonathan when that happened... Angel would have observed the most amazing Cheshire cat grin spread across his face.

_Bullseye! Gotcha, Angel. And, it looked like that hurt..._

_S..Simon? No, Angel, don't go there...  
_

Not only was Angel being forced to play life or death game of hide-and-seek with a living, breathing, monster...

Now, she was also struggling against being pushed down a particularly dangerous rabbit-hole by that monster.

Angel had done an acceptable job of burying all of her horrific memories of Simon - of what he'd done to her and of what he'd forced her to do - in some deep, dark corner of her mind... But, now, Jonathan was loosening the dirt that covered them.

And Angel feared that - if they ever were uncovered... or worse, if she ever had to re-live them - it might very well be "The End" for her.

Now, she felt it was necessary to pause. She made herself turn around and look back towards the van, towards the voice, towards Jonathan.

_God, I never thought I'd say this... but, please, let me just be having a nightmare..._ she prayed.

He had the passenger-side door open. He was standing on the edge of the frame, leaning out, looking at her and smiling. When he saw her turn and face him... his smile widened. He stepped out of the van, onto the sidewalk and - with long, quick strides - began closing the distance between them.

Jonathan had no problem going after Angel on foot. As far as he was concerned, it was all a part of the game.

Angel knew, from personal experience... a smiling, happy Jonathan is not a good thing... for anyone.

_No... _ She whispered.

She was about to turn back around, drop her skateboard and take off when she collided with another person on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Whoa, careful there, Miss... Where's the fire?"

Much to Angel's astonishment and relief... it was a Bay City Police Officer - in uniform. He was standing next to a black-and-white patrol car, in which his partner already was seated.

_Oh my God! I have never before in my life been so glad to see the police!_ Angel thought. But, what she actually said was...

"I beg your pardon, sir. Please excuse me. I meant to look back only for a moment... to check and see if there was a bus approaching." she smiled at him sweetly.

_Sounds reasonable and likely..._ she thought.

"That's alright, Miss. Just be careful." The officer glanced at her bandaged hands, "Oh, I guess I'm too late...". Angel had seen his gaze drop to her bandages. "Oh, not at all, Officer. You should see the other phone... I mean _guy_.".

Angel then quickly glanced back towards the van and was very relieved to see that Jonathan, apparently, had spotted the police as well. He had returned to the van, gotten in and closed the door.

_Jonathan's a smart guy... for a psychopath. _Angel thought.

She turned back to face the officer. "Once again, sir, my apologies."

"That's okay. Just, please look where you're going, Miss."

"Yes, sir. I certainly will. Thank you."

"You're welcome." The officer tipped his cap to her.

And, with that, Angel stepped around the officer, dropped her skateboard - wheels down - and took off down the sidewalk as fast as she could... knowing that the traffic jam in which Jonathan's van sat wouldn't last indefinitely.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the van, Jonathan was fuming.

He'd seen Angel talking with the police officer and - rather than risk possibly being arrested - he'd returned to the van.

Jonathan was cursing. Cursing the traffic jam. Cursing the police officer. Cursing Angel.

"Damn!... Damn!... Damn it! She was right... _there!"_ Jonathan gestured angrily as his cold eyes burned with icy flames.

_So damn close... Yet so ... far!_

He turned to the man driving the van...

"Keep an eye on her... Keep track of her... Don't you _dare _lose her!" He spoke the words in a low, unemotional voice.

Jonathan didn't have to raise his voice or yell in order to communicate a threat... or a promise of violence...

It was simply understood.

The driver flinched - on the inside. _Never show fear_... He told himself... _Just like when facing a growling, teeth-baring, wild animal..._

On the outside, he simply nodded in response, all the while keeping his eyes on the girl on the skateboard.

Hearing Jonathan's unveiled threat aimed at the driver, the other three men sitting in the back of the van exchanged looks with each other.

They were all very relieved that they weren't sitting in the driver's seat at the moment.

Each of them had known and worked with Jonathan for a some time now. They knew him to be very charismatic - if not a bit theatrical... he was also a skilled strategist, a strong leader and... a natural-born psychopath.

You either maintained your position as an asset to Jonathan... That is - you continued to actively help him to achieve his goals...

Or you... didn't.

And those who were successful - who didn't disappoint him and then just inexplicably disappear - never spoke about the latter option.

Currently, Jonathan's singular goal in life was to hunt down and grab that girl... what's-her-name... "Angel". So, that's what they were all committed to accomplishing.

Jonathan never told them why he wanted the girl... and they never asked... it wasn't any of their business, anyway.

* * *

Jonathan had his reasons for going after Angel... a few of them.

He was determined to get Angel back - by any means necessary.

The "mutual friend" remark Jonathan had made to torment Angel was true. He had kept in touch with Simon Marcus since the man had gone to prison and had informed Simon of the news that - not only was Angel _not _dead and buried - she was alive and well and had traveled to Bay City.

And, when Jonathan told Simon this... that _his_ Angel was - in fact - alive... Marcus had ordered him to find her and recapture her.

For one thing, Marcus had been very open with... well, _careless _around Angel... He'd told her about his plans for their future... pointing out that the looming threat of being arrested or even sent to prison wouldn't be a long-term problem for him and why.

So, simply put, Angel knew too much. The risk of her telling the authorities about his plans and ruining them was too great. And - as Marcus had told Jonathan - they couldn't allow her to do that.

All that prison business aside... Simon Marcus hadn't only been surprised to learn from Jonathan that he hadn't actually killed Angel... but, he'd been very happy to hear the news. After all, he really liked Angel. And, upon learning that she was alive, he immediately wanted her back.

In spite of everything, Simon Marcus had enjoyed spending time with Angel. Sure, she had turned out to be a serious challenge to try to break and - yes, she could be a real bitch... But, those things only made the games more fun... more_ interesting_. He had never stopped thinking about her... not even after he'd thought he'd killed her... not even after arriving in prison. He couldn't get her out of his head...

And, Simon Marcus was very confident that he had made sure - by way of some of the things he's done to Angel while he'd held her captive - that Angel wouldn't be able to get him out of her head.

As he'd told her repeatedly, in that basement, she belonged to him. He had meant it then. And, he still meant it.

Besides that, he desperately wanted another chance to break the girl.

_She has such a remarkably strong spirit..._

_Yes.. I definitely think that breaking Angel... __**that** would be an_ **_accomplishment_**.

Thinking ahead to when he'd have _his _Angel back gave him great comfort as he sat in prison... waiting... for the day that he would escape.

And, that day was fast approaching... as long as Jonathan and his people made sure that they didn't allow Angel to ruin it.

* * *

A few blocks away, Angel had reached some cross streets - alleys, really - that she remembered were "One-Way only".

They emptied out into the street that she was on, which meant that she could go back up the alley, but the van couldn't follow... not legally, anyway.

Angel made her choice and then waited - crouched in the shadow of a canopied doorway- with her heart beating in her throat - for the van to follow and cross the intersection and then for a few cars to pull up behind it... thereby preventing Jonathan from having the option of backing up and possibly following her up the alley.

It seemed to take forever, but Angel dared not peek around the corner of the doorway, lest they spot her and then blow her whole plan.

Then, it happened. The van crossed the intersection. Then, three cars pulled up behind it, completely cutting it off from the alley.

Angel smiled... _Finally, some good luck!_ And then, she stood up in the doorway, turned to her left and ran back across the street - despite it being against the light and amid frantic and aggravated honking - and then, she stopped at the entrance to the one-way alley to glance back towards the stuck van.

Jonathan was already out of the van and making his way towards her... with two of his friends following closely behind him.

_Holy crap!_

Now, even the normally rational side of Angel's brain was beginning to panic...

_Don't look now... Angel. But Jonathan just turned into the daylight incarnation of a monster from your nightmares. You know... the big, bad, scary one... that just won't quit... that always seems to find you... that always..._

_Shut up... and run!_

Angel dropped her skateboard to the street and launched herself down the alley and away from the monsters. Unfortunately, the pavement that made up the street in the alley was far from smooth and even. After only putting several yards between herself and her pursuers, the choppy and broken up pavement that was ahead of her forced her to step off of her board, pop the deck up into the crook of her arm - wheels still spinning -and run for her life.

Angel was running with everything that she had in her as she approached the other end of the alley. She didn't want to, but she had to glance behind her to get an idea of how close - or far - Jonathan and his friends were. She did quickly look back... Damn it!

Way too close...

_And, where's their van?_ She wondered.

And, suddenly, there was this_ car_...

* * *

Starsky and Hutch had been traveling along the cross street at the far end of the alley. They were scanning the sidewalks and side-streets on their respective sides for any signs of trouble and/or troublemakers.

It had been a quiet trip thus far... until Starsky had spotted the girl with the skateboard.

She was running at a full-tilt. And, to the dark-haired detective, she appeared to be running for her life. At first, he couldn't figure out why. Then, in the next moment, he saw what he assumed was the reason... Three big men - the type who often worked as 'collections specialists' (i.e. ~ "leg-breakers") who were not only chasing her... but who were quickly catching up with her.

"Hutch! We got 3 on 1 at 9:00.", Starsky informed his partner as he nodded to the left, in the direction of the alley.

"3-on-1? You know what, Starsk?, That's just wrong." Hutch said as he peered down the alley.

"Those three bruisers chasing that one girl? They should be ashamed. Let's go even out the playing field." Hutch replied as Starsky hit the accelerator and swerved the Torino towards the alley.

As Angel turned back around, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. What first appeared as a red and white blur turned out to be a speeding car that had been traveling along the street that intersected the alley.

_Who the hell are those guys?!_ She wondered.

But, Angel didn't have time to ask... she had a monster - well, three monsters - at her back and they were closing in on her fast.

The thought of Jonathan catching her terrified Angel, but she didn't relish the idea of getting hit by the car, either. So she stopped for a moment to see if the driver sped past her or stopped.

The muscle car raced up to the end of the alley and the driver performed a controlled slide - tires squealing - bringing the vehicle to a stop where it blocked the exit of the alley in front of her.

_Friend? or Foe?... _Angel just didn't know and had no information she could use to make an informed guess.

What Angel _did_ know was that if Jonathan got to her... well, then she was...

Well, she just couldn't let that happen.

She knew in that instant what she was going to do.

Starsky and Hutch were just opening their doors as the Torino came to a stop.

Angel quickly glanced at the blond and the brunet who were about to exit the vehicle...

_Hmm... they don't look like Simon's or Jonathan's people... _She thought, briefly. _ Oh, well..._

By now, Jonathan had seen that Angel had stopped running and that she was now standing between a car and his group. Not a stranger to overconfidence, Jonathan was sure that he had her... that she was boxed-in... she was as good as his.

Flanked on either side by his two 'friends', the three of them were now walking casually towards her.

He already knew she was afraid of him. He knew that from the basement. He also knew that, as he got closer to her, Angel's pulse would, undoubtedly be speeding up and her breathing would be rapid and shallow...

He was enjoying this game...

"Hey, Angel! Don't play hard to get... We just want to take you home... Come on, baby... Come back home with us."

Jonathan's ominous words were more than enough motivation for Angel to get the hell outta there.

Just as Starsky and Hutch were stepping out of the Torino and were readying themselves to begin questioning the three men and the girl about whatever was going on... Angel made her move, a stunning and desperate one.

In Angel's perception, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Just as it had on several occasions, in the past, when she'd found herself facing a very real threat of serious bodily injury or even death... say, from a speeding car.

For Angel, when this happens, everything looks clearer, her senses seem heightened and an unusual, yet peaceful calm envelopes her.

It's almost as if - no matter how the events which are unfolding finally turn out - she's already at peace with the results.

And, that was how she was feeling at this moment... Strangely calm and peaceful.

What better state of mind to be in when you're about to do something that - for all intents and purposes - looks suicidal?

Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson, as well as Angel's three pursuers, then could only stand and watch - in stunned silence - as the girl who was just moments ago being chased down - the one with the skateboard under her arm and bandaged hands - took a running start towards the Torino, jumped up onto the its lovingly hand-polished, glossy hood, planted a few solid steps across it and then she simply launched herself off the other side... only a scant few seconds ahead of the _whoosh!_ of a passing Bay City bus... and - by no minor miracle - avoided being struck by it ... a bus which had passed by close enough to Hutch that he'd taken a step back.

_Damn... _ The blond detective thought to himself, shaking his head... _Now, **that** was **insane**..._

Once on the other side of the bus, Angel dropped her skateboard to the street, stepped on the deck and then took off as fast as she could go... glancing back only once, briefly, to see the detectives holding out their badges.

_Cops?_ She thought. _Hmmm... Maybe they'll arrest 'em. _ But, still, she kept going in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Keep off the wax job!" Starsky yelled after her as he scanned the Torino's hood for shoe prints or scuff marks.

But, Angel was already gone.

"Starsk?" Hutch started.

"What?" Starsky looked at Hutch, who was looking towards the three men.

By now, Jonathan and his two friends had reached the two detectives and the Torino and had stopped. All three were bent forward at the waist and breathing heavily.

"Okay, right... I gotcha. But, did you see what she just did to my car?" Starsky looked personally offended.

"Later, partner. Let's question these bozos first. Maybe find out why she was running from them or why they were chasing her? We can put out an APB on the skateboarder who left shoe-prints on your wax job later, okay?" Hutch motioned toward the three bruisers.

For Hutch, there had been no question what he was going to do... even before he'd stepped out of the car.

And, now that the girl had fled, he could either go after the girl - the one who was already being chased... Or, he could stay with his partner and question the three thugs who had been chasing her.

Hutch stayed, of course.

Which turned out to be a very wise decision, indeed.

Because, something unexpected happened.

Something completely unexpected, thoroughly unsettling and bizarre... and it involved the biggest of the three men.

While Jonathan and the other two were catching their breath, Starsky and Hutch pulled out their detective's badges to identify themselves.

Jonathan only briefly glanced at Hutch's badge. But, he took his time getting a closer look at Starsky's badge.

"Hmmm... Hmmm...", was all that the man uttered.

Then, the formidable figure glanced in the direction that Angel had gone in and disappeared... and lowered his head for a moment.

He looked... well, _disappointed. _Hutch thought.

Sensing he was under scrutiny, Jonathan glared at Hutch.

He turned back to Starsky. Then he proceeded to slowly look Starsky over, from head-to-toe - a several times.

... _Like a piece of meat... _Hutch thought.

Hutch watched the strange effect that Jonathan's gaze had on his partner. He couldn't quite put it into words, though.

Under Jonathan's blank, icy gaze, Starsky, himself, felt oddly uncomfortable and also felt a shiver travel down his spine.

Jonathan turned back and glanced at his two companions and nodded.

Starsky, dealing with sleep-deprivation and already feeling like a raw nerve had had enough of the carnival...

"Hey! Turkey! Eyes over here!"

Jonathan slowly returned his gaze to the dark-haired detective and then simply stared at him.

Starsky stepped into Jonathan's personal space and growled at him, "What the hell are you staring at, you moron?!" he said, angrily.

Jonathan broke into a slow and amused smile - like he was in on some inside joke.

Then he lowered his voice, so that only Starsky would hear his words and he hissed - in a flat, matter-of-fact tone...

"Why, I'm staring at you... _Polaris_."

(*T.B.C.)


	15. Chpt 15

Holiday Greetings!

Here's my gift to You...

_I hope it fits!_

Enjoy!

*My Deepest Thanks To Prolixius5 for being my Amazing Beta Reader.

*Also, Thank You To Prolixius5, aussie mitcham and brook5 for your kind reviews, they are precious to me.

*Please don't hesitate to review, leave a comment... even a single word: "Yes!", "No.", "More.", "OMG", "Huh?", etc.

Thanks For Reading!

* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 15

* * *

Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson hadn't heard any of the six words that Jonathan had spoken - under his breath - to his partner.

In particular, he hadn't heard the sixth word - that last and most relevant word that had crossed the man's lips.

Actually, Hutch wasn't even aware that the unidentified man had said anything at all to Starsky... but, he had observed the strangely amused smile that had appeared and then spread across Jonathan's face.

Which was exactly what Jonathan had intended.

After being caught completely by surprise by Angel's spontaneous and death-defying leap and escape, Jonathan and his two associates were left standing - somewhat stunned by what had just occurred - in the company of two of Bay City's finest detectives. They were winded from chasing her down the alley and were still trying to catch their breath.

Jonathan glanced at each of the two men who had - moments earlier - emerged from the striking red and white car after it skidded to a stop in front of them. Initially, Jonathan had thought that the detective standing before him with the dark, curly hair looked familiar. And after seeing his I.D. badge, he'd been able to confirm that he was - in fact - looking at Detective Sergeant David Starsky of Bay City's Metro Division.

Jonathan had crossed paths with the detective - on one occasion - several months earlier. It had been shortly after Starsky was ambushed during Simon Marcus' first sentencing hearing - just as he'd entered the men's room - and had been abducted from the courthouse. Jonathan was present on that morning - along with several of Marcus' other followers - at the old Bay City Zoo when the three men who had pulled off the daring, daylight kidnapping of the detective arrived with their unconscious captive in the back of their van. Starsky had only just begun to regain consciousness by the time the van reached the zoo.

But the detective had never actually seen Jonathan because he was still blindfolded when they arrived at the zoo and shortly thereafter, the group had beaten the angry, defiant and bound detective until he was unconscious.

Being a close-confidant of Simon Marcus and as the lieutenant for his group Los Angeles, Jonathan already knew of Marcus' prophetic, waking "dream" about Starsky. He knew, in graphic details, the specific mental and physical tortures that Marcus' dream had declared would be the detective's fate.

And, knowing this, Jonathan had been thoroughly disappointed that he wouldn't be able to stay and have his turn with Starsky. In particular, he had hoped he could be present for and participate in the sunrise ceremony - when the group would be sacrificing the detective - but, unfortunately, he had to go back to Los Angeles.

Of course, when the news reports of Starsky's last-minute rescue by his blond partner and of the subsequent arrests of those who were present at the aviary reached him, Jonathan was very grateful that he hadn't stayed in Bay City. That said, he still felt like he'd missed out on a very rare opportunity for some unique fun and games with the detective.

So, seeing Starsky now, in person, had fired up his rather dark and twisted imagination. And, soon, Jonathan found himself intrigued by thoughts about having another shot at the detective. As far as Jonathan was concerned - since the ceremony had been interrupted - Starsky was something of an as-of-yet unfinished project... not unlike Angel, another object of Marcus' obsessions.

And now, as he stood mere inches away from Starsky - with a variety of methods of torture dancing in his head - Jonathan couldn't help but smile.

Nor could he help but take something of a psychological 'swing' at the detective.

Jonathan had a strong desire to test him. He wanted to find out - first - if he could psyche the detective out and, if so, then - second - to discern precisely how little - or how much - effort would it take until he began to see cracks in the detective's tough-guy veneer.

It was true that Starsky had been one of the so-called 'lucky ones'... unlike most of Marcus's victims, he had been found alive and had been rescued. And, it was true that he'd been saved from what would have been a slow and agonizing death. Still, Jonathan was very confident that being tortured had to have had adverse effects on the man. He also was sure that - despite having been rescued - the fact that he had been only moments from dying a horrific and violent death - such as the detective was facing when he was rescued... Well, those experiences had to have done some emotional damage. They probably had also left the young detective struggling with some ongoing psychological effects. Traumatic experiences such as what Starsky went through would cause any sane person a certain amount of long-term issues.

Since Jonathan had kept in contact with Simon Marcus, he knew specific details about the two interrogations which had taken place between Marcus and Starsky's very desperate and barely-keeping-it-together blond partner. Marcus had told Jonathan exactly what he had said to Detective Hutchinson. He told him about the riddles and his archaic descriptions of his dreams.

Marcus had laughed, heartily, when he told Jonathan that, if he was going to prison - even temporarily - he was going to enjoy one last game with Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. They had been instrumental in putting him in prison. It was a game that was to be played to the death... that is - to the death of Detective David Michael Starsky. And Marcus was fairly certain that the untimely death of Starsky - a particularly gruesome death at that - would, undoubtedly, be the beginning of the end of Detective Hutchinson.

And, it was those conversations Jonathan had with Marcus - specifically, the discussions regarding Marcus' meetings with Hutch... while Starsky was still being tortured at the zoo - from which Jonathan had plucked a single word to drop on Starsky.

It was a word which Simon Marcus had spoken only once... and he'd said it only to one person.

An emotionally raw Detective Hutchinson had returned a second time to the small, dingy interrogation room and had sat across the table from an amused Simon Marcus. To his great horror, Hutch had realized that - despite the terms of the original demands made his kidnappers - Starsky's captors were going to kill him, regardless of whether or not Marcus was sentenced by the judge.

When Hutch went back to the prison that second time to confront Marcus, he demanded that the murderous monster confirm this...

_"Ain't that too much?"_ Marcus had smugly replied, wearing a sinister smirk.

Hearing this, Hutch initially had lunged at Marcus... but, then stopped himself.

After regaining his composure, Hutch had an epiphany. He then asked Marcus, specifically, about the dream he claimed to have had about Starsky...

_"Tell me the dream about Starsky..." _Hutch had asked - his voice remarkably calm.

The fact that Hutch was at the point of pleading with Marcus was obvious. Yet Hutch didn't care... he would do anything he could to get Starsky back... and get him back alive.

_"My dream?"_, Marcus had perked up at the detective's interest. _"I dream of a temple... the Temple of the First Kingdom. Where only the Faithful keep the flame."_

_"The Faithful... and Heavenly Polaris."._

Hutch wouldn't figure out until a while later - with the help of Captain Dobey and Huggy Bear - that Marcus' riddles held specific clues to where Starsky was being held and that there were hidden meanings in his words.

For example - once the three men realized that Marcus relied heavily upon using synonyms - they figured out that when Marcus said, "Heavenly Polaris", it was to say Sky and Star... and was a direct reference to Starsky.

These details hadn't been shared with the press nor the public-at-large, so Jonathan was confident that - if Starsky was suffering any long-term psychological or emotional effects from his ordeal -being referred to as "Polaris" would probably rattle his cage.

Jonathan had chosen his six words with the utmost care.

And, he had made sure to speak in a low enough tone so that they would be heard by Detective Starsky only.

_"Why, I'm staring at you, __**Polaris**__..."_

And those six little words - the last word in particular - spoken by Jonathan in such a flat, emotionless tone... had instantly communicated a vast amount of information.

That innocuous response - which would have meant nothing to anyone other than those who had been directly involved in the Simon Marcus case - revealed a great deal... to Starsky.

Those six words told him that Jonathan already knew who he was... and far beyond simply knowing that he was a detective.

They told Starsky that the man standing in front of him - whom he had never seen before - had personal knowledge of specific details from the negotiations between Simon Marcus and Hutch which took place amidst the ordeal of his kidnapping, torture and attempted murder several months earlier.

And those details that Jonathan was, apparently, privy to... were ones which had never been shared with the press.

In other words, he knew details about Starsky's ordeal which weren't public knowledge.

Those six little words... No... scratch that. Make it that _one_ word...

For Starsky, the sixth and last word, _"Polaris"_, could also be taken as a direct and very personal threat.

In saying those six words and - not to mention, in his utterly cold, dead delivery of them - Jonathan was suggesting that the nightmarish ordeal that Starsky was put through while he was being held captive and tortured at the old Bay City Zoo wasn't necessarily over...

Not yet.

They also pointed to the fact that not all of Marcus's "freaks" were sitting in jail or prison.|

And, last, but not least... they told the detective that - although Starsky might not recognize all of Marcus' fanatical followers, due to having been blindfolded or unconscious... they recognized Starsky.

And, as far as Jonathan was concerned, such an exquisite threat was intended for Starsky's ears, exclusively.

Yet, while Hutch may not have heard the words spoken to nor the implicit threat made against Starsky... He did have a front-row seat from which to watch his edgy, sleep-deprived partner's surprising and disconcerting reaction.

Hutch had seen Starsky get into Jonathan's face and say, "What the hell are you staring at, you moron?"...

But, he hadn't heard the man respond to the question.

So, when he watched his partner as he...

_Well, yes... he did... Starsky actually just... uh, flinched..._

Hutch was stunned... although he did his best to hide it.

Hutch knew his historically-fearless friend better than anyone...

And, as far as Starsky was concerned, flinching was simply something that he didn't do...

In fact, Hutch didn't think he'd seen Starsky flinch... _ever._

It didn't just strike Hutch as odd... it was also considerably unsettling for him.

_Starsky... flinching? ... 'Goes against the Laws of Nature. _Hutch thought.

Yet, that wasn't the only strange thing that Hutch observed...

In the next moment, Starsky's face also visibly paled. Hutch had actually watched, as all of the normally healthy color drained from his partner's face... if only for a moment.

Knowing Starsky - inside and out - as well as he did and knowing how completely out-of-character all of this was for him - Hutch thought that, perhaps, his sleep-deprived partner had suddenly taken ill.

"Starsk..." He began to ask, but never got to finish his sentence...

(*T.B.C.)


	16. Chpt 16

Hello Starsky & Hutch FanFiction Friends!

This is the third version of Chapter 16 (Not counting re-writes :~}).

I'm not entirely sure where our little adventure is leading... but, I do hope you're enjoying the ride.

Wishing you all a Happy, Safe, Fulfilling and Memorable 2010!

L.

* Prolixius5: I couldn't have received a more precious gift this Holiday Season than having you as my BR! *

* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 16

* * *

_(*At the conclusion of Chapter 15...)_

Knowing Starsky - inside and out - as well as he did and knowing how completely out-of-character all of this was for him - Hutch thought that, perhaps, his sleep-deprived partner had suddenly taken ill.

"Starsk..." He began to ask, but never got to finish his sentence...

* * *

Starsky was still holding the leather billfold which contained his Detective shield and identification in his left hand. Upon hearing his name, he turned his head - ever-so-slightly - towards Hutch. Yet, Starsky's eyes never met his. He'd acknowledged that he'd heard his partner, but that was all. Hutch wasn't sure what to make of the expression he saw on his partner's face. He'd always been able to read Starsky like a book... but strangely - at this moment - he didn't have a clue what was going on behind those indigo blue eyes. The look on his face changed a few times. Hutch had seen partner's initial flinching... then he'd seen Starsky pale... both were responses associated with shock or a less-than-pleasant surprise. Then, Starsky looked to be in pain and, momentarily, appeared somewhat unsteady.

Then Starsky appeared to quickly recover from... well, from whatever it was that had happened - Hutch still didn't know what it was. His partner took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. Then he tilted his head to either side - loosening up tension in his neck. He shrugged his shoulders a couple of times - another move intended to loosen up tension. When he set his jaw, Hutch could almost see the wheels turning inside his partner's head.

_C'mon, Starsk... I have no idea what happened. Just hold it together, buddy..._

"Starsk..." Hutch began again...

This time, Starsky seemed to snap out of whatever the hell it was that had momentarily overwhelmed him.

And, when the darker man turned his indigo blue eyes to connect with Hutch's cool blues, Hutch thought that he could actually see that this time_... _yes... _his _Starsky was in there.

Starsky, himself, confirmed this for Hutch in the next moment when he displayed one of his dazzling smiles... and a rather mischievous one, at that.

As Starsky turned back to face Jonathan, he began tossing the leather billfold into the air and then catching it - repeatedly - with his left hand. He did this a few times and then he went to switch hands. He tossed it up in the air - and then appeared to reach and clumsily grab for it with his right hand - or so it seemed. What the casual observer would never have guessed was that every single move the detective was making was utterly intentional. Starsky may be left-handed, but he had long ago developed exceptional eye-hand coordination with both hands. Instead of effortlessly grasping the billfold, he "accidentally" missed it - knocking it to the pavement in front of Jonathan. He then looked at the smiling, overconfident man and shrugged his shoulders - wearing his best "silly me"-smile. Then he paused... just long enough to see the initial movement that indicated that Jonathan was going to pick it up. Then, he made his move. He took a step forward, bent both of his knees, reached for the billfold and - after picking it up - he lowered his head, took another step and "stumbled" as he rose... driving his right shoulder deep into the right side of Jonathan's gut.

"Ooooph!" The placement of the unexpected blow had succeeded in knocking the wind out of the big man and Starsky's momentum toppled him like a tree. He flew backwards and landed on his back... and only avoided striking the back of his head by thrusting his arms behind him so that they hit the pavement first.

Starsky was still bent at his waist, his hands on his knees. He raised his head to look at the fruit of his labor... And, seeing Jonathan laying on the pavement in the alley... coughing and sucking in air hoarsely, curled towards the right and holding his right side... Starsky felt confident that he wouldn't be uttering threats - much less anything else - at least for a few moments.

_Hmm... Not wearing that smug smile anymore, are ya, freak?_ Starsky thought - as he shook off remnants of images of being tortured and the wave of anxiety which always accompanied them. Once they had faded away, Starsky smiled to himself.

Having witnessed their leader knocked to the ground - apparently on purpose by the highly-agitated detective - both of Jonathan's associates turned menacing eyes on Starsky and began taking swift strides in his direction.

Hutch acted quickly to intervene - lest all hell start to break loose right in front of him. He was able to catch the men's attention and draw their eyes with a single syllable - repeated three times - and with a reminder of the little fact that he was... well, _armed_.

"Uh... Uh... Uh...." Hutch said, in a sharp voice, as he raised the "Hutchinson warning finger" and slowly shook his head and placed his right hand on his left jacket lapel. Between the sharp tone of his voice and the immediately recognizable movement of drawing down on them... the two men stopped in their tracks.

"Hold it, right there you two. I'm sure Detective Starsky didn't mean to do that." Hutch gave Starsky a beat to turn and look at him. When Starsky did, Hutch raised his eyebrows and said... "I'm absolutely sure that it was an _accident... _wasn't it Detective Starsky?"

Hutch didn't believe a word of what he was saying. In fact... he knew better. Regardless, he needed to convince the two men who were - only a moment ago - bearing down, threateningly, on his partner. Of course, Hutch knew - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that Starsky meant to lay the big man out. He may not have known _why _Starsky had done it - but he knew it _was_ intentional. Hutch was also confident that his edgy partner must have had a good reason to have done it...

At least, Hutch hoped that Starsky _had _a good reason.

Starsky was massaging his right shoulder -in small, slow circles - with his left hand. He held up the leather billfold - still clutched in his right hand and showed it to the other two men...

"Of course it was an accident. I'm guessing that ya didn't see the whole thing. What happened was this... I'd dropped this - my shield. I bent down to pick it up and as I stood back up... I... uh, tripped and lost my footing and fell forward... accidentally bumping into your friend there."

Starsky knew that - especially being on duty - it was important to maintain a certain level of professionalism. So, he was motivated to smooth things over.

He also hoped that he'd gotten his point across to the man who was still on the ground... recovering. Which was that - despite his initial reaction to Jonathan referring to him as "Polaris"... namely shock - he, Starsky, wasn't going to cower in front of anyone.

_And..._ Starsky thought to himself..._ I damn sure ain't gonna drop and curl up in the fetal position in front of any of Marcus' fanatical freak followers just because they got lucky and happened to catch me off my guard._

Detective David Michael Starsky was someone who had become very adept at controlling his emotions as well as how he expressed them... usually.

Yeah... okay... he's been known to occasionally _lose it_... so to speak. And, yes... there have been instances - like during an especially challenging interrogation - when he'd felt it was necessary to more clearly communicate with a suspect the true gravity of a situation and just how serious he was about getting to the truth. In those instances, he'd felt the best way to do that was to grasp the suspect and shove him up against a wall... leaving the suspect's feet dangling a few inches above the floor.

_But_, Starsky had been working on his acknowledged anger management issues and even Hutch had told him that he's seen an improvement in his partner. That's just the external physical stuff, though.

Regarding visible displays (or lack thereof) of inner emotions... Starsky was an expert. He knew how to put on a really good front. And, given his chosen profession, he considered this a necessary and very helpful skill to have in his arsenal.

He'd also found that it had its uses in his personal life, too. Especially since his harrowing ordeal at the zoo a few months back.

Yet, there was one current problem Starsky was struggling with that he would never admit to anyone. In fact, it was one secret about which he hadn't even confided to Hutch... That being that Simon Marcus' brutal and bloodthirsty freaks were _continuing_ to torture him on a regular basis. They were very stealthy about it and they kept themselves well-hidden during the day - with a few challenging exceptions. Somehow, they'd figured out how to camouflage themselves... by hiding deep in his subconscious.

Within these few short months - since Hutch had rescued him - the freaks had utterly destroyed Starsky's once-legendary ability to fall fast asleep on anything... anywhere... anytime. In fact, it was Starsky, himself, who now doubted that he'd ever been able to do such a thing.

Now, Starsky simply hated sleeping. Now, he simply refused to sleep. He'd do everything he could think of to stay awake for as long as he could. And although Starsky, the man, would never surrender to Marcus' phantom followers... Starsky's sleep-deprived body and mind could only continue to function for so long under such conditions.

And at those times, it wasn't a case of Starsky getting sleep... but of sleep getting Starsky. He'd literally _fall _asleep. He'd often fallen asleep while sitting at his kitchen table while reading the newspaper. He'd fallen asleep while sitting in the car after Hutch had momentarily stepped out to grab their lunch. He'd even fallen asleep while standing up ... the latter events were not only startling... but could be, potentially, downright dangerous. On a couple of occasions, the only thing that prevented him from falling to the floor... had been the file cabinets that he'd struck on the way down, first.

And, whenever sleep finally ensnared the unwilling Starsky... Simon Marcus' glassy-eyed, drug-addled freaks would be there... waiting to ambush him... waiting to torture him. They could and would - in the blink of an eye - turn even the most mundane dreams: work-related dreams, benign dreams of all variety and even sexual dreams... into surreal and terrifying nightmares.

In spite of all of this, Starsky was determined not to let them do the same thing in his waking life... in the bright light of day...with the sun high in the sky. When he was so many blessed miles away from the custom-made hell that once was the sanctuary of his bedroom... and so far away from the unrelenting darkness, demented dreams and insanity... which patiently waited within for him to return.

Starsky stepped beside the fallen man and placed the leather billfold back in his pocket. Then he put on the most sincere "I'm terribly sorry"-look that he could muster...

"Sorry, man... Clumsy me. No hard feelings?" Starsky then offered Jonathan his hand to help him up.

At Starsky's approach - and still clutching his right side and taking ragged breaths - Jonathan quickly sat bolt upright... and winced.

_Ouch!... That must've hurt. _Starsky thought as he watched the man's sudden movement.

Jonathan looked at Starsky's offered hand as if the detective were offering him contaminated meat - while he simultaneously visualizing chopping off the impudent detective's offending appendage. Then, his gaze traveled slowly up Starsky's arm... to his shoulder... to his neck... then, he flicked his eyes to his legs... his torso... his other arm... then back to his face.

Jonathan looked directly into Starsky's eyes as a barely-contained rage burned deep inside him. He was very nearly seething with animosity... not only because he had lost the girl - after almost being in arm's reach... but, now, he had to deal with the two detectives whom he had recognized as those responsible for Simon Marcus' arrest and who were key players in his trial and conviction. And, the dark-haired one who stood before him now had the very rare distinction of having survived a 'private party' Marcus had dreamed about. He made no effort to hide his animosity nor his intentions and they filled his eyes with a flickering gold fire.

When Starsky's indigo blues collided with Jonathan's fiery green eyes... the disquieting and otherworldly appearance of the latter caused him to do a double-take.

As anyone whom had ever spent an extended amount of time in Jonathan's company soon found out... the man had an unmistakable presence. And, despite the fact that he's an imposing figure - physically - that presence had nothing to do with Jonathan's height, which was no less than six feet. Nor did it come from his solid and noticeably muscular build.

Whatever it's source, that presence was virtually _palpable. _ That is, it had some kind of... _substance_.

And, although it couldn't be seen with the eyes... it could definitely be_ felt_.

The unlucky ones whom had earned Jonathan's ire and/or had repeatedly disappointed him had definitely felt it. And, the few in that category who hadn't simply disappeared, had frequently sworn that - even without him laying a finger on them - under the weight of that presence, they had suddenly found themselves having difficulty breathing.

Today, as the dark fire raging in Jonathan seemed to produce flames of gold in his eyes as they bore into Starsky... the detective began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Naturally, Starsky's first response was to fall back on his practice of resorting to humorous remarks in uncomfortable situations. He was about to make a smart-aleck comment... but his mouth suddenly became bone-dry.

Moments earlier, when Jonathan was laying on the ground, he had briefly lost that smug smile that he had presented earlier - just as Starsky had predicted.

Yet now, as he stood up - having done his visual inventory of the detective, curtly refused the man's offered hand and as he glared into his eyes - Jonathan was smiling, once again.

_"You, Polaris, are going to pay for that... and pay very dearly."_ Jonathan thought. He was already making unpleasant plans for the curly-haired detective.

As Starsky stared into Jonathan's eyes, images of his captivity, torture and near-murder at the zoo returned and began flashing through his mind with an overwhelming ferocity. Starsky began feeling dizzy. He raised his right palm to his forehead - extending his index finger and thumb across and above his brow - as if shading his eyes. He then took an unsteady step backwards... away from the sinister stranger and the deleterious effect he seemed to have on him.

At the same time... having apparently - on some deeper level - sensed an impending and direct threat, without conscious thought and acting on pure instinct alone, Starsky began reaching for some deadly serious back-up: the 9mm Beretta in his shoulder holster.

Fortunately, an observant and increasingly concerned Hutch had witnessed the scene as it unfolded and had quickly moved up to his partner's side... casually and lightly placing his hand at the center of Starsky's back. Initially, Starsky had tensed up in response to Hutch's unexpected contact - an extraordinarily uncharacteristic reaction for him. Then, when he realized that it was his partner, Starsky relaxed, seemed to start breathing again, steadied himself and lowered his left hand back his side.

Hutch waited for a beat for Starsky to meet his eyes and. then, just let his expression communicate the question: "... You okay?". Starsky blinked a few times - at first - and then gave Hutch a quick nod in response.

Hutch then focused his attention on the two men standing a few paces behind and on either side of Jonathan...

"Mind joining us over _here_, ladies?" Hutch asked as he motioned for the other two men to come up and stand alongside Jonathan.

They glanced at each other, then they looked to Jonathan. Without bothering to look back, the latter motioned with a tilt of his head for them to approach and each of them took a position on either side of him. The three men stood relatively still. They watched and waited. The two who flanked Jonathan kept their eyes locked on both Starsky and Hutchinson.

As for Jonathan, he only had eyes for Starsky. He watched the detective with the single-minded focus of a skilled and deadly predator. His body appeared relaxed as he stood there, but he watched Starsky, intently... as if he were memorizing every single detail about the man.

Hutch took a single step towards the three men. He sensed that Starsky was about to do the same which - particularly after Starsky's aggressive antics just a few short moments ago - he didn't want him to do. Hutch paused, briefly, to glance at his partner... and asked him - with just a simple look - to hang back where he was. Starsky blinked slowly and gave Hutch a slight nod in acknowledgement. Hutch turned back to the the three men.

"You three, uh, gentlemen aren't under arrest. My partner and I would simply like to ask you a few questions. It's your choice whether you answer our questions or not. But, you should know that, if you choose to be difficult - and by 'difficult' I mean that you choose to refuse to answer our questions - then we will be forced to detain each one of you and take you down to the station for a more formal and individualized interrogation."

Hutch paused to let his statement sink in to the men. Then he continued...

"So, are you willing to answer a few questions?" Hutch asked.

Jonathan finally broke away from watching Starsky to glance at Hutch. He gave him a polite nod and then returned his gaze to Starsky.

Hutch needed a verbal confirmation... "Is that a 'Yes'?"

Jonathan once again glanced at Hutch and said - in a low and rumbling voice, "Yes." and then he returned his gaze back to Starsky.

Hutch had expected the two men with Jonathan to answer for themselves... but, apparently, they wouldn't do nor say anything without some prodding.

"And, you two... Are you willing to answer a few questions?" Hutch motioned to each of the men, individually.

Once again, the two men looked to Jonathan... and once again - without turning around - he nodded. Then, each of the men said, "Yes.".

Hutch glanced at Starsky - who was doing his best to ignore Jonathan's focused attention - and passed along a look. Starsky looked at the three men, shrugged and then shook his head. Hutch turned back to the three men.

"The only reason that the three of you even came to our attention and the only reason that we're all here together now, is that both my partner and I had observed the young lady - the one with the skateboard who left in such a hurry - running for her life down this alley. When we looked behind her, we saw the three of you chasing her. Now, care to tell us why you three bruisers were pursuing the girl with such gusto?"

Jonathan knew that he would never be able to pull of simply lying to the two detectives... Just like he knew that he would never be able to pull off trying to look completely harmless. So, he settled for blending a few facts with a fair amount of fiction. The fact that he was highly-intelligent, a fast thinker and had a talent for improvisation only served to benefit him. As Hutch had been getting to his question, Jonathan noticed his van driving by along the cross street behind the detectives and parking. Having taken a quick glance at the front of the van, Jonathan now knew what he would be telling the two detectives. A hint of a smile passed - unnoticed - across his face and then quickly disappeared.

Jonathan cleared his throat and then looked directly into Hutch's eyes...

"Detective... Hutchinson... wasn't it?"

Hutch returned the polite nod.

"Detective Hutchinson... and Detective..." Jonathan glanced at Starsky, briefly, and then turned back to Hutch, "Sorry, I didn't get your partner's name..."

Hutch wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard Starsky growl just then. He quickly turned and gave his partner a pleading look. Starsky glared at Hutch for a moment. Then he raised both hands out in front of him - palms forward and fingers skyward - as if to say, _"Okay... Okay. I'm staying right here... and I'm staying calm."_

Hutch turned back to face Jonathan...

"Detective Starsky... My partner's name is "Starsky"." Hutch replied.

"Starsky... Of course, how could I forget... such an unusual name, too." Jonathan purred.

"Ah, could we stick to the question at hand, please?"

"Of course. Detective Hutchinson, Detective Starsky... If I may bring your attention to the van parked across the street behind you..."

First Starsky and then Hutch each took a few moments to turn and look at the van.

"Okay. What about the van?" Hutch continued.

"That is my van." Jonathan continued, "Two more friends of mine are in it. The five of us came up here from southern California on a simple road trip. We had briefly stopped at a convenience store not too far from here and gone inside to purchase some refreshments. Upon exiting the store, I observed the girl in question vandalizing my van...".

"What do you mean by "vandalizing"?" Hutch inquired.

"She broke the antenna off of my van." Jonathan replied, plainly... "If you look at the front corner of my van, you will see that the antenna is broken off." This was true... but it had actually been Jonathan, himself, whom had broken the antenna off and then used the telescoping metal structure to whip a disappointing subordinate.

Starsky and Hutch once again took turns looking across the street to the front corner of the van... and saw that, yes, the antenna was broken off and missing.

"Why would she do something like that?" Hutch asked.

"How the heck should I know, Detective? I just know that I saw her do it and I became rather... uh, _angry._ We weren't going to harm the girl..." Jonathan lied, smoothly... "We wanted to scare her." Now, that latter bit... that was definitely true.

"You wanted to teach her a lesson?"

"Yes, of course. We thought that, perhaps, if we scared her enough... she might think twice before doing the same thing to someone else...".

"Well, apparently, you succeeded. For the girl to have had a choice between either letting you three catch up with her or jumping in front of a speeding bus and narrowly avoiding becoming a hood ornament... and she chose the hood ornament possibility over you... I'd say she was definitely desperate to get away."

"Good. I hope she's learned her lesson. Because, if not... she might find herself pissing-off the wrong people, you know, some really bad people and... well, God only knows what they might then do to her...".

Jonathan had to fight very hard to appear solemn and sincere... and to repress the Cheshire Cat grin which so badly wanted to come out as he said these words. He almost couldn't help it... because he knew that when he spoke of... "the wrong people... some really bad people...", he was talking, specifically, about himself and his people.

Hutch looked directly at Jonathan. Something in the big man's voice gave him the creeps. But, Jonathan sent out no other 'signals', shrugged - trying to look as non-threatening as possible - and then smiled. The smile never reached his eyes, though.

Suddenly, the police radio in the Torino crackled to life...

"Zebra-3... Zebra-3..."

Starsky leaned into the open window to hear the call from Metro Dispatch. Then, he reached inside and pulled the microphone off of its cradle. Calling Dispatch, he confirmed that Zebra-3 would be responding to the crime scene and reported the duo's current location and E.T.A.. He tossed the mike back in the car, stepped away from the door so he could open it and turned towards Hutch...

"Hutch... we gotta go. There's a 2-11, in progress, at a corner market that's only a few blocks from here. Metro thinks it might be the armed smash-and-grab trio of thieves that we've been after for the last few weeks... and, apparently, they're expanding their target base. I told 'em that we'd be responding immediately."

Starsky opened the door, got in the Torino and put the keys in the ignition.

Hutch nodded, "Alright, Starsk..." He turned back to Jonathan and his companions. "Okay, I guess we're done here. Sorry about your antenna. But, I don't want to catch you guys chasing anyone down, again... Understand? If someone vandalizes your personal property, please file a report with the police. Don't take the law into your own hands. Do I make myself clear?" Hutch asked.

"Yes, Detective Hutchinson. Crystal clear. Thank you."

Hutch nodded, politely, as he simultaneously fought off a strong urge to shudder in front of the three men. Then he turned and hurried to the passenger side door of the Torino, got in and closed the door. Starsky had already started the powerful engine and as soon as Hutch was in the car, he hit the accelerator, gunned the engine and headed back out of the alley... but, not before he made a too-close-for-comfort pass by Jonathan and his men. Not surprisingly, the two men with him took several quick steps backwards. But Jonathan firmly stood his ground. He smiled an evil smile at Starsky as the front/right quarter panel of the Torino brushed along his clothing. Starsky felt a chill go down his spine.

"Starskyyy!" Hutch yelled - gripping the both the backrest and the windowsill - when he saw how close his partner had maneuvered the big car.

"Don't worry, Hutch... I got this. I got it all under control..." Starsky smiled - fishtailing the Torino a little - as he they headed toward the location of the 2-11.

Hutch glanced at his beloved partner as even more concern about Starsky's well-being solidified inside him.

_Yeah, partner... you just keep telling yourself that and - maybe - one day it will actually be true! _Hutch thought to himself as he placed the cherry light on top of the roof.

(*T.B.C.)


	17. Chapter 17

Hello!

A Happy, Healthy and Safe New Year To You All!

Hope you're enjoying **The Messenger**.

Thanks for reading!

* A Special Thank You To All Who Have Written/Who Write Reviews *

(You keep me energized and inspired!)

* Extra-Special Thank You To Prolixius5 (my BR) For Everything You Do. *

* * *

**The Messenger**

By: SFSK8rGrrl

Chapter 17

* * *

By the time that Starsky, Hutch, Jonathan and his two associates were done getting to know each other, Angel and her skateboard had managed to put a remarkable amount of distance between herself and the five men.

Then again, it may not be all that remarkable in that it's not uncommon for people to be completely unaware of all that they're actually capable of... at least until there comes a time when, perhaps, their very life depends on it... if such a time ever comes along.

And, for Angel, making her way through downtown Bay City on this cool, breezy Autumn afternoon... such a time had definitely come. The circumstances involved and the sudden and unexpected arrival of certain people from her past combined to compel her to push herself harder than she ever had before. She'd been skating as fast as she could... as if her life depended on it because, in all honesty, it did.

Although it now appeared that Angel had successfully escaped from her three pursuers, her heart didn't seem to believe this to be true. As proof of this, it continued to pound, thunderously, in her chest. At the moment, though, she was having no trouble ignoring her runaway train of a pulse because she was too busy focusing on her erratic breathing. She had recognized that she was taking in shallow, short gulps of air - far too rapidly - and she thought that she sounded as if she was about to hyperventilate. She knew that she had to avoid hyperventilating, because it usually leads to a person passing-out. And being unconscious was not conducive to Angel's number one priority at this moment.... that being evading Jonathan and his cronies. In fact, as far as she was concerned, there was no other option.

She replayed her escape in her mind's eye. Even though she had done it - looking back, it now felt surreal... like she was watching a movie with someone else performing.

_That was utterly insane, _she said to herself.

Thankfully, Angel could now afford to laugh, having pulled off her own Evel Knievel-style death-defying stunt: Leaping off of the hood of the red Torino, right in front of a Bay City bus, a few seconds before it blew past.

And laugh she did... which helped her relax and calm her breathing and her heart-rate.

_"Angel Knievel"... Hahahaha!_

Following those memories, Angel's thoughts continued to rewind - back to the moments immediately preceding her jump onto the Torino... back to the moment when she turned around and saw that Jonathan was only a few yards away from her.

That had been the closest Jonathan had been to Angel since... well, since her involuntary stay in the basement.

_The basement..._

The word alone could still have a significant effect on Angel... acting like a black hole... ensnaring her thoughts, her attention, her awareness... and dragging her back to the worst moments of her life.

The memory of that abhorrent place... of being trapped there... often in complete darkness... alone. Well, she was usually alone until either Simon Marcus or Jonathan came in for a visit. Angel remembered the shrill sound of the basement door's rusted hinges screaming out to be oiled every time that the door swung open. She'd very quickly learned to hate the screech of the hinges because they were always portents of very unpleasant experiences. She remembered how Jonathan would keep his back to her as he closed and then... _snick!... _loudly locked the door. And when he would then turn around, slowly, Angel remembered seeing... in fact, she could still see... the most sinister of smiles on his face.

She also remembered, all too well, that the rusted hinges on the basement door weren't the only things that screamed.

For just an instant, Angel was immersed in that memory... she felt like she was back in the basement.

In that moment, her attention was completely removed from her current position and activities.

And as soon as that happened, "Murphy's Law" went into effect...

Which means that, suffice to say, Angel's skateboard took that opportunity to find a nice, deep gouge in the street and then dropped its front/right wheel into it... instantly stopping all forward motion of the skateboard.

But, it didn't stop Angel's speed nor direction.

As explained by Sir Isaac Newton's First Law of Motion: "Every object will remain... in motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force."

Basically, Angel's speed and forward momentum on the skateboard continued... even after it was no longer under her feet. Then, the First Law of Motion combined with The Law of Gravity and hurled her forward and downward. She struck the blacktop fast and hard. She'd had just enough time to realize what was happening, making sure she pulled her hands in to her sides to protect them. Angel had fractured her wrists before and had, thankfully, learned her lesson about falling with her hands held out in front of her: She'd learned that the sides of your arms can take more blunt force than your wrists and they have fewer bones to possibly break.

Her leather jacket did a great job of protecting her arms and torso - which was exactly why she was wearing it. But, since her jeans were only made of cotton denim, the rocky pavement effortlessly cleaved through the fabric - like a hot knife through butter - and then, sliced open her right knee - just below her kneecap...

After wiping out, Angel was momentarily stunned. Her mind had been jumping back-and-forth... from skateboarding... and escaping from Jonathan... to all-too-vivid memories of being in the Hell that was the basement... to being in the basement with Jonathan... screaming... to sensing her skateboard as it completely stopped... to falling... too fast... and to hitting the pavement... with enough force to - momentarily - rock her world.

Now, Angel found herself sprawled on her side, in the street, surrounded by cars... honking vehicles which sped by in a _whooossshh! _of hot air, dust, dirt, car exhaust and tiny projectiles of gravel. She didn't have to look up to know that there were plenty of passers-by - single men, single women, women with children, couples... And, when she did glance up, they were there... most of them quickly hurrying past. Of course, some were gawking - slack-jawed and still others displayed disapproving looks...

No one stopped to offer assistance - not that Angel would have accepted any offers of assistance. In fact, that was highly unlikely - but, still, it's nice for someone to offer... it's the thought that counts, right?

One side of Angel's body - the side that had borne the brunt of the impact when she'd hit the pavement - was feeling like a mass of electrified pins-and-needles. And the sharp pain in her knee was throbbing in time with her heartbeat.

_Ow! Ow! Ow!... Damn it!_

Angel grimaced as she clutched her right knee - it didn't want to bend, but she made it bend... otherwise it would only stiffen and become more of a problem.

The dark, crimson stain of blood had already spread across the fabric that covered her knee. She gingerly spread the material apart where it was torn. The wound was jagged, peppered with dirt and gravel and bleeding freely.

Angel stared at the fresh blood. The glossy, reflective surface of it, the feel of it as it rolled over her skin, the slightly metallic, coppery smell of it... all of these characteristics worked to uncover and then dredge up a memory that Angel had thought she had successfully buried and forgotten in some deep, dark corner of her mind.

For Angel, the worst thing about these dark, unearthed memories was this:

Although she'd start out as an outside observer, watching as the memory as it unfolded - like someone sitting in front of a TV watching a scary show or seated in a theatre watching a horror movie - inevitably, there would come a point when Angel would suddenly realize - to her own great horror - that she was no longer simply observing the action... now she was deep in it... now she was re-experiencing it... now she was an unwilling participant... _now _she was in_ Hell_.

And, the worst part about return trips to Hell, for Angel, was the _return _part.

Being the one who'd lived through it all, she already knew every detail about what happened and when.

So, once she found herself re-living these memories, her heart and mind would be filled with such dread, because she already knew exactly what was going to happen next. And, she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Once this particular unearthed memory returned - in full force - Angel found that watching it unfold was like watching the proverbial train wreck: It was so uniquely horrific that she simply couldn't look away...

_She remembered the feeling of total sensory overload._

_There was just... so much... blood..._

_In the now unburied, memory Angel saw herself in the basement..._

_The air was thick and heavy with incense, sweat, smoke and the smell of blood... Windowless and usually kept dark, the room was, this time, all aglow with the flickering light of countless candles. The presence of candles always meant that, unfortunately, she wasn't alone. And, far from comforting, the candle-light only served to make the many figures in the room - all of whom were clothed in black robes decorated with embroidered, inverted, blood-red crosses - appear virtually faceless. The flames also threw undulating shadows of the hooded figures onto the walls as tall as the ceiling. Instead of being damp and cool - as basements are known to be - the room was stifling... warmed by the presence of so many bodies and burning candles. The monotonous sounds of their endless chanting filled the room... "Simone... Simone... Simone..."... they never stopped chanting. Angel had been convinced that their chanting alone would eventually drive her mad, particularly since - at this point - she heard their incessant chanting, even when they were no where to be found._

_"Driven slightly mad... Okay... That's one point for the bad guys." Angel had mused, in her delirium._

_And apparently, just for kicks, Simon's freaks had laced the water they'd given her to drink with something, again... drugged her, again... she had no idea with what drug... but it was currently wreaking havoc on her perceptions, on her ability to think coherently and was making it virtually impossible for her to deal with all of the insanity going on around her - let alone to be able focus her thoughts enough to try to fight them off._

_Someone with a vice-like grip was trying to hold her head still and, although she was struggling against them, they were winning. She had also been trying to pull free of the ropes that bound and were digging into her wrists - without the desired results... but, hope springs eternal: "Perhaps, if they get bloodied enough, I'll be able to slip my wrists out.", Angel had, momentarily, thought._

_She looked down to see that several more hooded figures had moved up beside her legs. They were bigger and a lot stronger than their predecessors and they'd learned from their previous mistakes... This time there were two of them on each leg and they had all gotten an unbreakable hold of them - starting at her knees, firmly locking them in place..._

_"More's the pity." Angel had sighed..._

_Now, sadly, she wouldn't be able to kick the knees out from under anyone, as she had done to the first two freaks who'd walked up and tried to grab her legs. When they came in, Angel was playing 'possum - feigning unconsciousness - and they'd gotten careless and underestimated her. Those first two had been carried - screaming bloody murder the whole time - out of the basement._

_"Two dislocated knees on their side... Victoire!... Two points for me!"... she'd laughed.  
_

To Angel - unable to escape the Hell that was Simon Marcus' world - small victories (such as dislocating a knee on two bad guys), no matter how short-lived - still counted as victories.

_Although Angel knew that she was fighting a losing battle, she still had to fight them._

_"Surrender is not an option."_

_So, since she refused to be a willing participant in their sick rituals, the cult members were determined to hold her down so that they could force her to do it._

_Something that there was no way in Hell that she would do voluntarily._

_For Angel... alone, somewhat immobilized and drugged... it wasn't the best of situations._

_And, as for the bad guys... Well, they had all the advantages: they had the numbers, the leverage, the freedom of motion, the drugs, the water, the drugged water, the meagre amounts of food, they knew what games were being played, they knew the rules of the games - or made them up as they saw fit... Basically, they held all the cards._

_And despite Angel's best efforts and as much as she absolutely hated to admit it... before too long, there simply wasn't anything she could do to stop them._

Angel agonized over that fact in her mind...

_God... No!..._

She desperately wanted to keep struggling, to keep fighting...

_No! Don't... let... them... win!_

_She remembered how they wouldn't let her get enough air to breathe... let alone to scream... _

_Then, she remembered feeling like she was drowning. She thought they were finally going to kill her._

_After they had - once again - finished playing their demented games with her, the still-chanting, hooded figures quickly filed out of the room, taking their candles with them. They left Angel alone, slumped on the floor in the center of the room, arms still bound behind her, bruised and completely exhausted._

_She turned her head to her right, so that her chin was almost touching her shoulder..._

_She could hear wheezing from deep in her lungs... as she continued to cough up... to spit out..._

_Blood._

_A steady stream of tears appeared at the inner corner of each of her eyes and then rolled, silently, down her cheeks._

_And, before the basement door closed, taking with it the last bit of light and leaving her in that surreal and dark Hell, Angel heard Simon Marcus' voice..._

_"Sweet dreams, my Angel."_

_And, after he'd closed the door and locked it, Angel heard laughter..._

_Simon Marcus was laughing... He knew that he'd won._

Angel's stomach twisted and turned... pulling her back into the present moment. The world tilted and spun around her. Angel reached forward, grabbed her wayward skateboard and clutched it close to her. Then, she dragged herself between the two closest cars that were parallel-parked on her right side. She turned her head to the pavement under the bumper of one of the cars and heaved... first, only producing a little bile... and then, nothing... just dry-heaving until she felt exhausted and her entire ribcage ached.

When she was confident that the spasms had stopped, Angel pulled a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and wiped the perspiration from her face. She was trembling and closed her eyes, thinking that might help her to relax but, the world then tilted on a diagonal...

_Whoa!... _Angel said to herself... _Big mistake!_

She opened her eyes and, attempting to regain her equilibrium, grabbed a car bumper in each hand. She could feel her body rebelling against her intention of staying awake, alert and conscious. It had finally had enough and was telling her to put up the _"Closed"_ sign.

_Sorry, but I can't do that... _ Angel told herself, sternly.

_In case you hadn't noticed, there are sharks in the water and, look... you're up to your neck in ocean. oh, and the sharks are circling._

That sobering thought alone was enough that Angel got her body to stop fighting against her and to focus.

_Well, good..._ Angel sighed, _that's a start..._

As she sat there, catching her breath and figuring out what to do next, a solitary voice broke her concentration...

It was a soft, low male voice. It swirled around her on the wind's currents.

_"Feeling better now, my sweet Angel?"_

Angel instantly recognized it as a shudder, simultaneously, passed through her before the sentence was even finished.

Angel stiffened, holding her breath as her blood, momentarily, chilled like ice water.

Angel tried to reason with the panicked side of herself as her heart began pounding yet again.

_Come on, Angel... Don't do this. Simon Marcus is gone. That lunatic is in prison for the rest of his miserable freak life!_

Then, Marcus whispered in her left ear...

_Now Angel, is that any way to talk about Simone_?

Angel shook her head, violently...

_Stop it..._

Then, he whispered in her right ear...

_When I learned that you were alive, I sent Jonathan to retrieve you._

Angel swiped at her right ear...

_S...S...Stop it..._

He whispered in her left ear again...

_Remember the plans I made for our future?_

Angel covered her ears with her hands...

_Shut the hell up!_

Despite Angel's attempts to silence him, Simon Marcus continued to taunt her...

_Don't tell anyone of the plans I shared with you._

_Don't disappoint me, Angel. _

_As I told you, you're mine... Always mine._

If there had been anything left in Angel's stomach, she would have lost it all, right there...

"You, Simone, are a nightmare... and I'm wide awake... So, shut the hell up!", Angel cried out in anger.

Angel opened her eyes and looked around, though, not for Simon Marcus because - despite the fact that he'd messed with her head - she knew he was in prison. But, unfortunately, Jonathan and his goons weren't. She was relieved to see no sign of any of them or their van.

As a cool breeze buoyed Angel's hair, her attention turned to the time of day. She gazed up and realized that the sun was beginning to set in the western sky. The expansive canvas above her displayed voluptuous streaks of white clouds, framed by highlights of pink and gold... resembling the soft brush-strokes of a master painter.

_Looks like it's time to book a hotel room..._ Angel thought to herself.

Sitting on the curb, with her feet still in the street, she looked down at her injured right knee. The bleeding had stopped and the blood still on the wound had begun to dry and crust over. She slowly began to try to stand up, keeping the injured knee slightly bent. She picked up her skateboard and limped over to the nearest wall, leaning a little on her skateboard as she went, so that she didn't have to put all of the weight on her right leg. The cut itself still stung and the pain impulses from her knee were constant and throbbing. As she crossed the sidewalk, Angel chose to respond to the pain by sucking air in through her clenched teeth, rather than cry out in pain.

Suddenly, an idea for a billboard popped into her mind: _"Give blood... Ride a skateboard"... _Angel shook her head, yet she couldn't help but laugh at it.

_Focus, Angel... The hotel room... Okay, how much money do I have?_

She reached inside the pocket of her leather jacket where she always kept her wallet... and was unpleasantly surprised to find that the wallet wasn't there.

_That's okay... Don't panic, just yet..._

She began methodically checking all of her pockets... on her jeans, outside of her jacket, inside of her jacket...

No wallet.

_Damn it! So much for getting a hotel room..._

Angel figured that she must have dropped the wallet somewhere between her leap off of the Torino - back in the alley... and the street in front of her where she had wiped out.

_Please... please... please be there... _Angel prayed as she hobbled back over to the curb. She then scanned the street where she had collided with the pavement and then even got down on her "good" left knee to peer under the parked cars for her wallet... to no avail.

_That's perfect... Just perfect!_

_Well, there's no way in Hell that I'm gonna go back to that alley to look for it... nor anywhere in the vicinity... not with Jonathan and who knows how many of his friends trying to find me._

"Okay... So, the hotel room is not gonna happen. On to the contingency plan..."

Angel's contingency plan was still to locate a secure place to rest for a while. It's just that now, it was going to have to be outside. It had to be a place that was off the major streets and be somewhat hidden. Most of the businesses and shops on the street where Angel found herself were already closed or would soon be closing, so she decided to explore the alley behind them.

Still using her skateboard as a crutch - albeit a short one - Angel slowly made her way to the corner and then turned right and began her search for an acceptable spot to, perhaps, get a little shut-eye... if Simon and the other residents of her nightmares would actually be letting her sleep.

Meanwhile, not too far away...

Having responded to the 2-11 robbery-in-progress call from Metro Dispatch, Starsky and Hutch were now walking back to the Torino after spending some time questioning the owners of the convenience store which had been robbed. They'd also talked with the store's clerk, who was thoroughly surprised at having walked away, unhurt, after being robbed - at gunpoint - by three masked men. In fact, he was still shaking. The two detectives had also questioned several witnesses who had either been in the store or just outside it during the robbery.

They may not have arrived in time to foil the robbery but, on the bright side, they had gathered some detailed descriptions of the three men - not their faces, of course, but what they were wearing - and a good description of their getaway vehicle.

The suspects in the robbery were three ex-cons - each of whom had arrest records longer than their arms - who had started off doing smash-and-grab jobs on shop windows at night and had now, apparently, expanded their repertoire to daytime armed robberies. The two detectives had been trying to nail the three men for a long time, now.

As Hutch was about to open the passenger side door, his gaze fell on an object that was partially visible on the windshield and partially hidden in the well where the windshield wipers lay. Hutch knew the Torino better than anyone - with the exception of Starsky, of course - so he noticed when something didn't look right.

"Hey, Starsk... What is _that_?" he looked at his partner, who - at the moment - had his head buried in the witness statements they'd just collected, and - once he'd gotten Starsky's attention - pointed at the object.

"Huh... What?" Starsky looked at Hutch and then followed the line of his arm and then his index finger to the wiper well of the Torino's windshield.

"Oh... uh, that?" Starsky stepped over to windshield to get a closer look, "That's a good question..." He looked at Hutch and smiled.

Hutch raised his arms and gave Starsky an impatient look that said, _"Well... Go on... pick it up!"._

Starsky reached for the as-of-yet-unidentified object...

"Careful, Starsk!" Hutch suddenly blurted out... thereby causing his startled partner to jump. Starsky looked back at Hutch, who was chuckling at his partner's jumpy response.

"Hutch... Don't do _that!" _

"Sorry, partner... couldn't help myself..."

"Yeah? Well, just you wait..."

"Come on, Starsk, would'ja just pick the darn thing up, already?"

"Don't rush me! I'm doin' it..."

Starsky picked up the object and immediately turned his back on Hutch as he examined it.

"Well, what is it? Starsk... Hey! Now, that's just childish. Lemme see it!"

Hutch moved quickly around the front of the Torino, to where Starsky was standing and tried to get his partner to show him the object.

"Well, what is it?" Hutch asked, impatiently.

Starsky turned around - smiling - and still holding the object behind his back and out of Hutch's view.

"Oh... it's uh... nuthin'."

Starsky's smile widened as he brought the item from behind his back and tossed it to Hutch.

"It's a wallet." Starsky said. He paused, momentarily...

"And, I'd be willing to bet that it belongs to that vandalizing, suicidal-or-insane, skateboarding girl who ruined my wax job while using the hood of my car as a diving board..."

Hutch looked at the wallet, then at Starsky...

"Not that you're still holding a grudge."

"Me? Hold a grudge?"

Hutch laughed as he turned and walked back to the passenger side door of the Torino.

As Starsky got behind the wheel, Hutch was sure he heard his partner muttering under his breath, through clenched teeth...

"I'm not holding a grudge... I just wanna _talk _to her..."

(*T.B.C.)


	18. Chapter 18

**THE MESSENGER**  
BY: SFSK8rGRRL

Chapter 18

Hello Wonderful FanFiction Community!

I'm back from... well, stuff.

And, rather than offering a long, winding explanation...

May I, instead, present you with this:

Chapter 18 of The Messenger.

I hope you're enjoying it!

I'm so happy to be back writing it.

And, I promise to not go MIA for so long, in the future.

Please feel free/don't hesitate to add your own reviews - per chapter or the story so far.

I cherish all of your comments, support and encouragement.

Your words mean the World to me.

Extra Special Thanks to Prolixius5, Brook5 and Aussie Mitcham.

Chapter 18 is Dedicated to Prolixius5: My Beloved Beta and A Priceless Friend.

* * *

Angel just couldn't help herself...

Despite the fact that she was completely exhausted and utterly bone-tired... despite the fact that it was night, she'd found a well-hidden niche to rest in and all around her was peaceful and quiet... despite the fact that she was alone now and pretty much no one knew where she was...

Well, actually, to be honest... someone _did_ know.

Simon Marcus' pet psychopath, Jonathan, was keenly aware that she was in Bay City. In fact, she was confident that he was still searching for her even now.

She spoke low and soft, "Like the monster that chases me through my nightmares... the one who never stops hunting for me... the one who always finds where I've been hiding...", she paused as images of Jonathan flashed through her mind. Suddenly, she shuddered as if something ice-cold had gone right through her.

"I doubt that the freak even sleeps...", she contemplated the thought for a moment, tilted her head and then had to smile, "But, then again, since making Jonathan's acquaintance... neither do I."

"Hmm... Look at that. We actually have something in common. Not sleeping. It's a starting point. Maybe we could become friends...", she laughed, softly, at the insanity of that thought as tears threatened to fall from her eyes.

"Yeah, right. Maybe we'll eventually have Sunday dinners together."

Visualizing that thought made Angel's stomach flip.

"Enough. So, he knows you're in Bay City. So what? It's a pretty big place and he doesn't know exactly where you are... right this moment. So relax, will ya?", she cajoled herself.

"Better safe than sorry...", she stopped and sat utterly still and listened, intently, to the night air for a few minutes. Other than a soft breeze, the sounds of cars, an occasional siren and a few stray cats... it was peaceful. She was alone - except for her skateboard - on the loading dock and - as far as she could tell - there was no one near this part of the alley.

Still, despite knowing all of this... as she sat curled up in the back of the aisle, between the high stacks of crates, Angel still fought as long as she could against her body's attempts to fall asleep

Because - for Angel -the simple act of sleeping was not even remotely simple.

Contemplating going to sleep and sleeping had become just two more epic battlegrounds in the growing list of such places in her life. So there she was, as always, dreading the thought of - yet again - struggling through the inevitable night terrors. Having vivid dreams, but not lucid ones. Which always led to Angel believing herself to be back in that Hellhole... in the basement... with Simon, or often worse... with Jonathan. An experience which then consistently lead to Angel waking up screaming. And then, once she was awake and gratefully accepted the fact that it had "only" been a bad dream... trying to calm her pounding heart and stop hyperventilating.

"I could try to talk to someone...", Angel mused. "Sure. I could go to see a psychiatrist... a shrink. I could sit across from them in his/her nicely-appointed office. We could make small talk. Expensive small talk. And then, at some point, the nice doctor will smile at me and suggest that I dig up the things that I'd buried. Once it's unearthed, he or she will encourage me to crack open Pandora's Box... while telling me, "Everything's gonna be alright.". Angel smiled and laughed softly to herself. "A 'Head-Shrinker'? Yeah, right. My head's too crowded as it is."

And, before too long, Angel finally fell into a - thankfully - dreamless sleep for a couple of hours.

Angel was an extremely light sleeper, though and it didn't take much to wake her up.

This was probably - in part - a direct result of her nightmarish experiences during her captivity and also partially due to sleeping out-of-doors.

When one is sleeping without the comfort, benefit and security of four walls, a roof and a door that you can lock - as Angel did at times, like this - being a light sleeper becomes a Basic Survival Skill.

And so it was, barely two hours after dozing off, Angel found herself rudely awakened by the sounds of men yelling.

Instantly, she sat bolt upright and tried to look around, but it was pitch black in between the stacks of crates.

She quickly and quietly set her skateboard aside and crept out from the niche and made her way closer to the edge of the loading dock.

Once there, although Angel still couldn't see much, she could definitely tell that, whomever the men were, they were running from the entrance of the alley and in her general direction. From their frantic voices, their labored breathing and the accompanying hard and fast thumping of their feet on the pavement, she figured that there were three of them and that they were running in fear, away from someone.

In the next moment, the shrill and screaming wail of a police siren shattered the otherwise still air. It was immediately followed by the loudly-echoing sounds of squealing tires and screeching brakes as someone negotiated a sharp turn into the entrance of the alley and brought their car to a remarkably fast stop. There was a brilliant red and white strobe light atop the roof of the car and its bright flashing light cut through the darkness and swirled illumination through the fog-filled air. As soon as the siren was cut off, Angel heard a couple more male voices and then two car doors slam shut. She was focused on the activity at the entrance to the alley when, suddenly, two men in dark clothing charged past the loading dock. Angel smothered a gasp and reflexively drew herself back from the edge - wanting to avoid anyone seeing her.

Seconds later, Angel heard the sharp voices and running footsteps of the two men from the car. They were quickly approaching the edge of the loading dock, apparently in pursuit of the first group.

The light from the strobe on the car was carried by and reflected on the fog - illuminating the alley enough that, as the second pair ran by, Angel was able to see that they had guns drawn.

Grateful that no one had noticed her, Angel stayed back from the edge of the loading dock, sitting silently and still in the shadows. She listened intently for any sounds... hoping that she wouldn't hear gunfire. "That's the last thing I need right now.", she said to herself. She was certain that gunfire would lead to a lot more cars, sirens, strobe lights and spotlights... and - at that point - she would have very little chance of being able to remain hidden.

The alley became completely quiet again and Angel simply waited. She knew that the two officers would be back for their car, eventually.

Then, after about ten minutes, Angel heard the voices of two men returning.

As they got closer to the loading dock, she could just make out some of their conversation...

"I can't believe we lost those three... _again_, Starsk.", said one.

"_We?_ Well what, exactly, do ya mean by "We", Blintz? _We_ didn't lose 'em. _You_ said they went left at da end of that alley. So, it wasn't _we_ who lost 'em. It was _you_ who lost 'em.", the other man quipped.

"Is that so, partner? Well, perhaps if you'd driven that... that _Striped Tomato_ a little faster... we'd have caught 'em way back...".

"Ya know, Hutch, you should just be thankful we were in the Tomato... uh, _Torino._ If we'd been riding in your LTD... you know, the one that's limping and on its last leg... We'd have never made across the freeway".

(Laughter...) "She does need a little work, doesn't she?"

"_A little work?_ No, Hutch. She doesn't need work. _She_ needs to be put out to pasture... or sent to a scrap yard and jun..."

The one man was unable to finish his sentence due to the other one stopping in front of him, facing him and raising his index finger in a warning gesture.

"Don't say it, Starsk..."

"O.K., Hutch. I won't say it. But, ya know, I told you that I can get a great deal on a car from my man Merle...".

"Merle?"

"Merle... The Earl."

"Merle, the Earl. The Customizing..."

"... Pearl. Exactly! I guess Merle made a big impression on you.".

"He certainly did, Starsk. Now, let me just clarify something."

"Sure."

"Partner, are we talking about the same man who - oh, I don't know - maybe several months back was hired to give my car a simple tune-up and nothing else. The same man who - instead of doing the tune-up - remodeled my car's classic interior... apparently using untold numbers of stuffed animal skins to do it? The same man who single-handedly turned my LTD into an... an abomination.... a _Pimp-mobile_...".

The man paused, took a breath and put a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"The same man who, might I add - not only never did the tune-up - but who made sure to send me a bill for the abomination?"

"Merle sent you a _bill _for that?"

"He sent me a bill, Starsk."

"Ouch... I'm sorry 'bout that, partner. I didn't think he'd go through with that."

"It's alright, buddy. I simply told him to add it to your tab."

(Laughter.)

One partner gave the other a friendly shove.

Which was followed by laughter from both of them.

But, Angel hadn't really been listening to the exchange after the one officer had mentioned "... those three".

Angel considered what he said and what she'd thought she'd heard, "I knew it! There _were_ three of them.".

"So... where did that third guy _go_?".

The two officers continued their conversation as they walked past the loading dock - oblivious to Angel's presence - on their way back to their car.

Angel got a really good look at them this time and almost gasped aloud when she recognized the pair.

To her highly-amused and great surprise, she saw that they were the same two cops whom she'd crossed paths with earlier in the day.

The ones with the really loud red-and-white custom paint job on their car. The same two who had made a very similar screeching tires/swerving to a stop entrance into the alley just as Jonathan and his thugs had been closing in on her.

The same two officers who had - whether they knew it or not - saved her life.

"And me, thoughtful girl that I am, how did I thank them? By jumping onto, stomping across and leaping from the hood of their car, that's how.". Angel sheepishly lowered her head, "Yikes... sorry 'bout that.", as if that would make any difference in her visibility - or lack thereof.

Thankfully, there wasn't much chance of them seeing her, despite the strobe's flashing light.

Expecting to hear the car pull away in a few minutes, Angel was about to breathe a sigh of relief and make her way back to her corner of the loading dock... "Thank goodness that's o...", but she never got to finish the thought.

It was suddenly interrupted by an entirely unexpectedly sound... a low, grumbling male voice. And the voice's point of origin was shockingly close to Angel.

It seemed to have come from the area just off the edge of the loading dock.

"Damn cops are forever sticking their noses in my business!", the gruff voice hissed.

There was a brief pause and then, "Well, you two aren't gonna be an irritating thorn in my side anymore.".

"I had to ask...", Angel chided herself. "There's the third man...".

She set her jaw as she moved silently through the shadows and towards the voice... Towards the edge of the loading dock.

"And, of course, he's gotta be up to no good."

Once there, she could just make out the tall shadow of a lone figure in an long coat. She wasn't quite sure how tall he was just yet, because he remained crouched behind the large, metal dumpster.

"Don't tell me...".

Angel quickly glanced up to the two police officers and saw that they were out in the open, no guns in sight and were still a good ten feet from the relative safety of their car... in other words, they were sitting (well OK, standing) ducks.

Then, she heard a terrible sound that instantly drew her attention back to the dark figure behind the dumpster.

It also clenched her heart.

It was the unmistakable sound of the hammer being cocked on a gun.

And, from that instant onward, time seemed to move - to Angel, anyway - in extremely slow-motion.

She'd known that she'd have very little time in which to decide what to do and - even more important - she knew that the two police officers - who had saved her hide earlier that day - had even less time.

Her first thought was to call out a warning to the policemen. "O.K..", Angel thought in response, "But if I do that, it's more than likely, their would-be-assassin would cut both of them down before they had their guns drawn or before they could take cover. Oh, and then he'd probably then turn around and shoot me, so... that's a No.".

She considered yelling at/throwing something at/somehow distracting the gunman and, thereby, give the officers time to take cover. "Yeah, that might save the officers...", she thought, "but, then the gunman would probably turn around and shoot me... several times, so... No."

"And, that just leaves a really bad choice." She grimaced, "But then, they're all really bad choices, aren't they?".

She quickly glanced a worried look at the officers... "Still not at their car...".

She glanced at the lone gunman... "Oh, boy.", and sized him up.

"O.K., Best Case Scenario: No one gets shot and the bad guy goes to prison.".

"And, Worst Case Scenario...", Angel bit her lower lip, "I'm not even going to think about that.".

Milliseconds were loudly ticking away in Angel's head.

"Hey, look on the bright side, you'll probably make the papers...".

"Yippee...", she thought unenthusiastically.

"This is insane, Angel. If you do this, you are certifiable.", the voice of reason pleaded.

"Yeah? Tell me something I don't know...", was her flat, matter-of-fact reply.

"The bottom line is this: They saved my life.".

In one fluid and graceful movement, Angel stood up and moved towards the edge of the loading dock.

Upon seeing the gunman standing up, stepping away from the dumpster, raising his gun and about to lower it and take aim at the unsuspecting officers, Angel took a deep breath and made her move, making short work of the distance to the edge of the loading dock.

And from there, Angel simply leaped from the edge of the loading dock, her target being the gunman's back.

Her plan of action was to knock him to the ground or to, at the very least least, knock the gun out of his hand and out of his reach.

What's that saying about "... the best laid plans"?

Angel hit her formidable target and hit him hard.

"Bulls-eye!".

And yet, much to her surprise and chagrin, the surprised gunman only took a few unbalanced steps but remained standing.

"Shoot... er, I mean, damn."

It was at this time that Angel realized how big the man actually was.

"Holy crap...".

This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought - not that she'd thought it was going to be easy.

She had hoped to knock him or his gun down. Neither of which panned out.

So now, she had to improvise.

First, she hooked her left arm around the man's throat and squeezed... she'd have gone for a two-armed choke hold if he hadn't had the gun. She grabbed his gun - in a white-knuckle grip - with her right hand and wrapped her legs around his sides as best as she could... pressing her knees in for leverage. While she did this, she yelled out to the officers, "Gun! Get down! He's got a gun!".

The big gunman had grunted a few times when she initially struck him, but now he showed absolutely no indication of going down anytime soon.

He wheezed and sputtered, "What tha? Get the hell offa me, you crazy bitch!".

He reached for Angel's head or her hair with his free hand, so she tightened her grip around his throat.

He then dug his nails into Angel's right arm and tried to pry it off from around his neck.

That hurt, but there was no way she was going to just let go. Although, she had no idea what she was going to do now, either.

Angel had no idea where the policemen were at this point, "Wherever you guys are, please don't shoot me...", she thought.

Right now she was completely focused on hanging on to the gunman, keeping his gun pointed up and - hopefully - avoiding being shot.

The gunman had stumbled away from the dumpster and he was now out in the open... in the middle of the alley - turning this way and that - trying to throw Angel off of him and regain control of his gun.

She was glad to have something to focus on other than the flashing, swirling strobe and the spinning of the gunman.

At least he was the target now, instead of the two policemen.

Suddenly, Angel was struck with the terrifying thought that they might shoot at him and accidentally end up shooting her. But, she pushed that thought away, "Can't worry about that...".

Then, unexpectedly, the assailant pulled the trigger of the gun.

The heat created by the explosive blast radiated through the metal and began to burn her fingers. Not only that, the barrel of the gun had been close enough to Angel's ear that it deafened her on one side and set her other ear to ringing.

"Ow! That's it, you're certifiable, Angel!", Angel told herself.

Then, before Angel realized where the gunman had positioned himself... let alone what he was going to do, the man suddenly threw himself and Angel backwards.

He heaved the unsuspecting girl with all the force he could against a concrete wall. Angel found herself in the unenviable position of being caught between the weight, power and momentum of the man's body and the rock hard wall. The impact nearly knocked all of the wind out of her. She slumped forward a little as she struggled to both hold on to the man, the gun and to breathe.

When he stepped away from the wall for a brief moment and paused, Angel suddenly experienced a major case of 'Déjà Vu'... she saw Simon Marcus' face right in front of hers. It was his face from the very last time she'd seen him - when he thought he'd killed her. That was right before the gunman, once again, violently threw both himself and Angel towards the wall.

This time, since Angel had been hunched forward, the impact caused her to snap her head back.

The loud _**"smack"**_heard when the back of her skull connected with the wall seemed - to Angel, anyway - to echo up and down the alley.

For the first few nanoseconds, Angel saw nothing but inky blackness.

Then, when her vision returned, she saw a shower of 'stars' over everything.

She tasted the coppery tang of blood in her mouth, "Must've bitten my lip...".

And then, she felt the beginnings of the Mother Of All Headaches.

Despite this unpleasant turn of events, Angel tried to focus. She was determined to maintain her hold on the man and on the gun.

"Where the hell are those two cops?", she wondered.

She felt disoriented. Her strength seemed to be running away like water flowing down a drain.

And, before she knew it, she had slid off of the man's back and onto the ground.

Much to Angel's own amazement - as well as that of everyone watching - she'd remained standing, if only for a few moments.

Both of her ears were ringing loudly and she was suddenly aware of something trickling down the back of her neck.

"Damn...", she thought, as the fog in the alley now seemed to be creeping into her head.

Between the fog and the strobe and the stars, Angel had no idea where the two officers were.

Or, why she was still standing, for that matter.

That didn't last long, though.

The burly gunman spun around and knocked Angel to the ground with his free hand - now balled into a fist.

She landed hard, on her side, on the gravel-strewn pavement.

Despite her grave situation, Angel felt oddly disconnected from it.

Everything around her had begun to sound as if it was moving father away.

She thought she heard multiple pairs of footsteps, but she wasn't be sure.

Then, when she had her bearing back to some degree, she looked up to find the gunman towering over her.

"S-sorry. I t-totally misjudged you.", she said to the dark, looming figure.

He was sweating profusely now and shaking with rage. Was that _steam_ coming off of him?

He snarled at her, spraying saliva... "I may be going to jail for this. But I'll go happily, knowing that I killed you first, you... you stupid bitch!".

He raised his gun and pointed it at her, shakily.

"Oh, damn...", Angel thought and then smiled.

For some strange reason, she simply couldn't care at the moment.

She wasn't sure if it was because she had simply accepted what appeared to be inevitable - that she was about to be shot - the whole "Whatever is... Is."-thing.

Or, was it just the simple fact of going into shock.

Neither one would have been her top preference.

She took some comfort in knowing that, at the very least, she'd kept the man from shooting the two policemen.

The two complete strangers who'd saved her miserable life.

The least she could do was return the favor.

The gunman was livid, "What the hell are you smilin' at?", he sputtered.

Angel simply shrugged and said, "You, I guess.".

Her eyes wanted to close and now she let them close - after all, they were going to do it anyway.

She figured that she might as well make peace with whatever was going to happen.

And then, she'd just wait for what she figured would be the inevitable explosive gunshot... the smell of cordite...

Strangely enough, she found herself hoping that it wouldn't be deafeningly loud or hurt too much.

Though, at this point, she figured that she couldn't feel much of anything anyway.

"Reliable things, head injuries.", she mused. She wanted to reach for the back of her throbbing head, but thought better of it. She laughed, in spite of her situation - and the fact that laughing hurt.

"Ow... I can make peace with this... but, I hope that unconsciousness overtakes me before any bullets do."

She opened her eyes and glanced once more at the rabid man whose sole focus in life - at the moment - was shooting her.

"Oh, and if that thug kills me, I hope that those two nice policemen shoot the big brute... several times... each."

Then, Angel heard the soft crunching of at least two more pairs of feet approaching on the gravel... followed by the sound of a very large handgun being cocked. She could tell, though, that it wasn't the gunman's gun.

Then, as the familiar, all-encompassing, blanket of nothingness began to envelope her reality... Angel wasn't entirely sure, but she thought she heard the angry voices of the two police officers approaching... flanking the gunman.

They were yelling sharp orders and made oaths to see great bodily harm done to the man holding the gun, if he didn't comply.

"Hurray, the cavalry has arrived... again.", she whispered to herself.

She opened her eyes, just a little. Her vision was blurred, but since he was close by, she could see the dark silhouette of the big man slowly laying his gun on the pavement and putting his hands behind his head. And, yes, that was definitely _steam _coming off of him_._

She couldn't quite see the two policemen, but she was confident that they were there.

"I got him, Starsk...", one of the officers grabbed the big man, suddenly, heaving him - with force - him out of Angel's view.

She heard the "snick... snick" of handcuffs being placed on his wrists.

"I got his piece...", the other said.

That officer holstered his gun, bent over to pick up the gunman's weapon and slipped it under his jacket.

Then, he kneeled beside Angel and gently took hold of one of her hands, "Hey... You OK?".

_"Unfortunately, I don't think so..."_, Angel thought.

She heard the rustling of clothing and then felt someone raise her throbbing head and place something soft underneath it.

"Oww...Oww!", that had hurt.

Angel slowly pried her eyes open. At first, she couldn't make out the face. Then, she saw dark hair and what appeared to be a very concerned face looking down at her.

A soft, male voice, with hints of an East Coast accent, "Hello... That's it, keep those eyes open.", he smiled.

"Ya know that was one crazy stunt you pulled back there."

"And, lemme tell ya, I know crazy stunts."

"_You_, kiddo, are _certifiable_."

"So I'm told..."., Angel rasped.

Her reply elicited a breathtaking grin.

Angel smiled back, laughed softly and then, as the blood in her mouth trickled down her windpipe, she sputtered a cough.

The dark-haired officer produced a handkerchief and gently dabbed a few drops of blood from her cheek.

His face returned to its original look of great concern.

A pause. Then, he looked up and over towards his partner, "Hutch, where's the heck's that ambulance?!", he hollered.

Angel winced at the booming echo of his voice.

The officer looked down and caught the end of her wince, "Sorry 'bout that.", he said softly.

"It's coming now, Starsk!", his partner replied from the direction of their car.

Faint sirens echoed into the alley.

He looked back into her eyes and gently squeezed her hand, "D'ya hear that? Hold on, the cavalry is coming. You're gonna be fine.".

Then Angel remembered, _"My skateboard... and my bag..."_. She tried to roll to her side and sit up, but the officer applied enough gentle pressure to her shoulders to stop her.

"Hey, I don't think that's a good idea, kiddo...".

"B-but, my skateboard... my stuff... s'up on the loading dock."

"Jus' hold still. I'll make sure you get your stuff back, I promise, OK?"

_"_OK..."

A pause.

"Wait... Didjyu just call me _'kiddo'?"_

The grin returned, "What's wrong with _kiddo_?"

Angel couldn't help but smile, "N-nothin', I-I guess.", she coughed again, "What's _your _name?".

"Oh, I'm Dave, Dave Starsky. And, who might you...?".

"N-nice to meet you, again, 'D-Dave, Dave Starsky'...".

Angel heard the roar of an engine as Starsky's partner pulled their car past where he and Angel were, in order to give the ambulance entry into the alley and then plenty of room.

"'Again'?... Have we met each other before?", Starsky asked, momentarily puzzled.

She smiled, "Yeah, earlier today. You two saved my life. The least I could do was return the favor.".

"Earlier today?".

Then, it hit Starsky, like a bolt of lightning...

"Wait a minute... Didjou just say 'skateboard'?

"Y-yeah... I'm Angel.".

Starsky looked at her incredulously.

"You _certainly_ are...".

Then, as more sirens and flashing lights arrived on the scene, Angel closed her eyes.

'Dave, Dave Starsky' gently squeezed her hand and - as the paramedics approached - Angel squeezed his back.

To Angel, everything had became a blur of strobe lights, sirens, noise and faces.

Oh, that and the Mother Of All Headaches, of course.

And then, all the lights, sirens, noise and faces slowly faded away.

Even the Mother Of All Headaches began fading away.

The last thing that Angel remembered thinking was, "... Please don't lose my skateboard... Dave, Dave Starsky."

T.B.C.


	19. Chapter 19

Hello FanFiction Readers!

"Power Is An Aphrodisiac" is a brief flashback (which is why it is italics) to the events just prior to Simon Marcus and Angel meeting for the first time and that fateful first meeting.

It's been a long labor of love - writing, re-writing, editing, deleting, adding, etc. - until it felt "just right".

I hope you enjoy it and that you're enjoying "The Messenger"!

I can't wait to find out what happens next! (which will be soon, I promise.)

Please feel free to leave your personal review(s)... I love hearing from you!

My Eternal Thanks To Prolixius5, My Beloved Beta and Friend!

* * *

**THE MESSENGER**

Chapter 19

By: SFSK8rGrrl

* * *

_There's an old saying: "Power is an Aphrodisiac."_

_And, whether in the form of political power, the power of wealth, the power of fame or the power of a cult leader... power is power._

_And as far as one Simon Marcus, the delusional and soft-spoken leader of a growing cult in California, was concerned... not only did he believe the old saying... _

_He lived it._

_Marcus' faithful second 'family' was a shadowy, secretive and surprisingly well-organized group with at least two known branches - one outside of Los Angeles and one in Bay City. They'd remained below law enforcement radar for a long time by keeping any of the "activities" which could land them in prison "in the family", silencing any threats to the group and by securing well-isolated properties and farms as their base._

_To a casual observer, the group looked like a bunch of bohemian flower-children - due to their choice of public dress, their public mannerisms and also their "the lights are on but nobody's home", glassy-eyed expressions. In fact, if you happened to come upon one of their compounds - and you didn't dig too deeply or stay too long - you'd probably think that it was a commune._

_That said, though, don't let the group's happy, smiling, hippie faces fool you. Not for one minute. To do so would be a mistake which could cost you your life..._

_Rumors of the cult's blood-lust, their participation in strange ceremonies... of witchcraft... of satanic worship... had been burning up the local grapevines for some time. A handful of individuals had come forward - in recent years - and relayed terrifying tales - of animal sacrifices and dark practices that - if true - indicated that Marcus and his family were acting upon a hidden penchant for dark rituals and extreme violence..._

_But, each one of those potential witnesses disappeared, shortly after talking to the authorities._

_For all the rumors of violence and blood, Simon Marcus the man, could be quite charismatic... and he always seemed to be in a state of unshakable peace and calm. To be in his physical presence, he "felt" more Buddhist than, say... Satanist._

_And, as leader of the cult, one of the perks Marcus enjoyed was being surrounded, 24/7, by a multitude of lovely young women - all of whom found him utterly irresistible. Beguiling and beautiful girls who were desperate to be with him... who fawned all over him, perpetually showered him with their affections. They were loyal, protective and would do anything for him. In fact, if someone were to ask any of the female members of his cult, candidly, what - if anything - they would do to be with Simon Marcus, they all replied in much the same way..._

_Their eyes would widen, "To be with Simone?", at which point they'd giggle like school-girls talking about crushes, "Oh, man. Wow! We would kill to be with Simone!". _

_(An interesting choice of words, considering that at a number of California's metro police departments, investigators strongly suspected that such statements weren't simply expressions of infatuation, exaggeration or obsession. They felt as if the cult members were baiting them. They were taunting them. They felt as if the cult members were saying, "We know what we've done... and you know what we've done. Now, catch us... if you can.". Unfortunately for the District Attorney's Office, having plenty of suspicions/gut instincts doesn't get you into a courtroom, let alone get you a conviction. In order to win a solid guilty verdict, the authorities needed to catch a break and collect some sort of physical evidence which connected the cult to one or more of a string of heinous ritualistic murder scenes, now stretching from Los Angeles to Bay City. And beyond the investigators' desire to nail Marcus or any cult members who'd killed for him... they were also concerned that, unless Marcus and his family were stopped, the heinous murders would continue.) _

_Of course, for Simon Marcus, having so many women around who were always eager to please him was great fun for a while but - just like eating candy everyday - eventually the novelty wears off._

_When that day arrived, Simon Marcus awoke, sat up and glanced around at the women who were still asleep in his bed and he sighed deeply. And, in that moment, he realized that he was utterly and completely bored... to the point of tears...__ at least when it came to the Ready, Willing and Able of his flock._

_As a result, he unconsciously began avoiding the L.A. group and spent more and more time away from his L.A. home._

_Simon Marcus felt like he was dying a very slow, very boring death. The fact that it was a painless death didn't matter... it was still a death._

_He made the decision to speak with Jonathan, his loyal friend, right-hand and enforcer, about it. He confided in Jonathan the fact that he was thinking about selling the house in L.A. and moving away. Jonathan counseled him to try one thing before putting his house up for sale. _

_He encouraged Marcus to actively seek out something that the cult leader would find to be a significant challenge. A challenge which he would have to devote a fair amount of time and effort into, on a regular basis. A challenge that required his focused and uninterrupted attention. A challenge that would force him to think, then re-think, evaluate and problem-solve. And, the challenge had to be one whose outcome Marcus deeply cared about._

_Marcus listened to Jonathan's advice, thanked him and said that he'd meditate on it._

_Later that afternoon, while deep into his solitary meditation, Simon Marcus felt a small, electrical jolt move through him and he twitched in response. Then, Simon Marcus smiled, because he knew that these minor jolts preceded his prophetic dreams. He raised his head, slowly, opened his eyes and watched the colorful vision unfold before him.  
_

_In his dream, Simon Marcus saw himself traveling together with his family, in his van. There was no one else around, at first. Then, the group came upon a lone, wandering girl who had... well, wings._

_"Perhaps she's an angel, a messenger, or a harbinger of some news...", Marcus had thought, the wheels in his head already spinning._

_Wings?... To be clear... Yes, they were 'wings'. __The girl did have wings on her back, so to speak. But, they weren't physical, feathery wings. She had skeletal wings - ones constructed only of bones, no feathers - and they were merely decorative - painted across the back of her leather jacket._

_Still, Simon Marcus saw wings... her wings. Then, again, the cult leader tended to read a great deal into everything in his dreams as well as the symbolism. __In addition, there's the little issue with Simon Marcus being more than a few sandwiches short of a picnic (an understatement)._

_In his dream, Marcus' curiosity about and interest in the unusual girl got the better of him. He insisted upon getting a better look at her... a closer and longer look. Before approaching her, he slipped seamlessly into one of his personas - a charming, peaceful hippie - and proceeded to engage the beautiful girl in conversation... while he lured her to his van. Once Marcus had her cornered, his family would surround and ambush her._

_When Marcus and the girl stopped, she was standing with her back to the van and Marcus was only a few inches in front of her. He leaned into her neck and smelled her skin, "Mmmm... she smells like vanilla". The girl tried to back away from him and bumped into the van. That's when __Marcus' family appeared, circled around them and - as Marcus stepped away - they grabbed the girl and tried to pull her into the van. She surprised them all by putting up a considerable fight._

_In fact, she gave them such a hard time -__ she managed to blacken a couple members' eyes and split one or two people's lips__ - that, at one point, she very nearly got away._

_Simon Marcus stood, silently, off to the side and watched the struggle. He was impressed with the girl, "She's got spirit, strength, heart...", and he liked what he saw, "I've finally found my challenge.", he remarked. _

_The group finally subdued her - tied her hands and feet - and dragged her into the van. Simon Marcus smiled at the terrified girl as he slid the van's side door shut, "Yes... I think she's exactly what I needed...", he thought.  
_

_Marcus then brought her to his home and began the long, grueling ordeal of breaking her, turning her, of re-making her as a member of his family._

_Of making the angel... his._

_And, when this vivid dream ended, Simon Marcus actually felt optimistic - for the first time in a long time - and he hoped that he wouldn't have to wait long for this particular dream to come to fruition._

_Alas, it appeared as though it simply wasn't meant to be... as yet another interminable week dragged on excruciatingly slowly and ended - uneventfully - and Simon Marcus resigned himself to selling his house, packing up and moving elsewhere in search of some new thrills._

_And that's when it happened._

_That's when she happened._

_Simon Marcus was behind the wheel of his van - on auto-pilot - driving back to his L.A. home one afternoon, after he and some members of the family had gone out for supplies. Marcus realized - at one point - that he must have been zoning out when the van floated over to the shoulder of the road and upon driving over a few significant bumps - jostled his passengers and jolted himself back to alertness._

_Marcus rubbed his bleary eyes, blinked a few times and then opened them wide - searching the road ahead of him._

_His vision was a bit fuzzy and unfocused, at first..._

_Then, in the next moment, he saw something which drew all of his attention and narrowed it down to one single point of focus..._

_Up ahead, standing on the side of the road, a lone figure had caught the cult leader's eye._

_It was a girl._

_She was standing motionless, her left hand shading her eyes from the bright sun and wind-blown dust. As he closed the distance between them, Marcus caught a glimpse of pink streaks in her hair. "Interesting...", he thought. She was wearing a beat-up, black motorcycle jacket - decorated with short, metal spikes, a white tank top and a nice-fitting pair of blue jeans - decorated with razor-cuts slashed through them. He'd seen pictures of people dressed similarly - "punk" - in magazines before. Although, he'd been under the - now apparently mistaken - assumption, that the style was an exclusively East Coast-trend - to be found in places like New York City and in Europe. _

_"A punk girl in Southern California?", he mused, "Will wonders never cease?"._

_The girl's right arm was extended straight out from her side and her hand was in a fist - except that her thumb was pointed skyward._

_"Hello there... ", Marcus said, musically, as both the dangerous man and his dark mood immediately perked up._

_"And, I'd just be willing to bet that you're a long way from home...", he paused, then broke into a wide grin._

_Simon Marcus clicked his tongue, "Tsk, tsk, tsk... You poor thing.", and then shook his head.  
_

_"Apparently, no one's ever told you that hitchhiking is dangerous...", he said, dramatically, and, this time, the smile reached his eyes._

_He quickly called for everyone's attention, "Simone has spotted something... interesting.", he paused briefly as the glassy-eyed group - which had only moments ago been lounging around the vehicle chanting - quickly snapped to attention. Marcus continued, "Check out that sweet sister we just passed... pink in her hair and wearing a motorcycle jacket."_

_Simultaneously, Marcus' family spun around and glanced out the van's back windows, anxiously. They peered at the figure, watching with great interest, as the girl shook dust out of her hair and brushed it off of her jacket._

_"Simone has just developed a sudden craving for... new blood. What do you say? Want to give our sister a ride?"_

_His family's enthusiasm for the idea was obvious even before they'd turned back to face him..._

_"New blood?". "Looks nice...". "Mmm, mmm, good". "I like her hair.". "Pick her up, Simone, pleeease."._

_It was unanimous._

_Marcus glanced in his rear-view mirror again as a wide, Cheshire cat-like grin spread across his face..._

_"Must be your lucky day, lil' sister... you're coming home with us."_

_He immediately pulled onto the shoulder of the road and - without taking his eyes off the girl in the rear-view mirror - lightly tapped on the horn to get her attention. The girl looked up, smiled, waved to them and quickly ran to the van._

_Marcus took a deep breath as she approached the passenger-side window. He glanced at his family in the rear-view mirror, "Sandbox-simple, brothers and sisters.", he rallied the group, "Make Simone proud."._

_When she reached the open window and looked in, Marcus was momentarily speechless._

_"It can't be..."._

_The girl was still trying to catch her breath as she glanced at the family seated inside the van. She smiled, sweetly and greeted them with a cheerful, "Hello!". She then brushed several unruly strands of hair away from her sparkling eyes and said, "You guys are a godsend."._

_Marcus's family quickly returned the girl's friendly greeting and then, one-by-one, began moving towards the front of the van - only stopping when Marcus shot them with a sharp glance and quick shake of his head in the rear-view mirror._

_When the girl turned back to look at Simon Marcus, her eyes widened and a slightly-less friendly look flashed across her face._

_The look concerned him. He thought he'd seen... something, "Doubt, hesitation... fear?", flickering in her eyes._

_A cynical thought quickly slithered into Marcus' head and taunted him, "No, none of those. She simply caught a glimpse of the real you, Simone."_

_"And, if she listens to her gut instinct... she'll walk... or, most likely, she'll run."_

_The cult leader's thoughts began racing, "No. She can't. I was just... Careless. OK. Think 'friendly', 'harmless'...", he glanced at his bohemian family poised, motionless, in the back of the van and it hit him, "Just a van full of flower-children, hippies..."_

_His confidence now returned, Marcus smiled at the girl, "Peace and love, sister.", he said as he raised his right hand, displaying a V-shaped "Peace" sign._

_His obedient family immediately followed suit, "Peace and love, sister...", they chirped in their dreamy voices, while holding up their own "Peace" signs"._

_When the girl turned to the group to return the phrase, Marcus gave his family a grateful smile in the rear-view mirror._

_And when she turned back to Marcus, he was relieved to see that, just as quickly as it had appeared on her face, the worrisome cloud was gone and the girl was smiling again._

_Marcus slowly released the breath he'd been holding and relaxed, "She's perfect...", he thought._

_"Hello, there...", he purred, gently._

_"Hello...", she replied and quickly added, "Oh, before I forget... Thank you for stopping for me.", she said._

_"You needn't thank us, sister. It's our pleasure. Besides, we must look out for one another, dig?", Marcus thought it all sounded like a really hippie-thing to say._

_"I agree.", the girl said. And, she smiled that amazing smile again._

_Marcus liked how her eyes sparkled when she spoke. _

_Marcus then took a deep breath... and picked up on something else he hadn't noticed before. He wasn't one-hundred percent sure, but he could have sworn that the girl smelled like... vanilla._

_"Sister... do you smell that?", Marcus sniffed the air again, "Vanilla... I think.", he asked._

_"Vanilla?", the girl paused and knitted her brow, "Umm...", she lowered her chin, sniffed her jacket and then broke into a smile._

_"Ohmygod... You've got a great nose!", she laughed and looked back up at Marcus,"I'd forgotten... I spilled some vanilla oil on my jacket.", she shrugged, "After a few hours out here... between the dust and the car exhaust... I couldn't smell a thing."._

_"It smells delicious...", Marcus said._

_"Thanks...", she shook her head, looked directly into Simon Marcus' eyes and smiled..._

_"By the way, I'm Angel."._

_Marcus stifled an enormous urge to catch his breath._

_And, it took nearly every ounce of his strength to prevent his jaw from dropping to the floor._

_Instead, he smiled warmly - as warmly as he could without betraying the true nature his thoughts._

_And a few seconds later, when he'd regained the ability to speak, he kept it simple and said, "Yes, you certainly are..."._

_Marcus couldn't believe how quickly his vision... his dream... had materialized._

_And yet, standing right there before him... alive, breathing and in the flesh (and smelling of vanilla!) was the girl from his prophetic dream._

_Marcus couldn't stop staring at her, "My Sweet Angel. Simone could definitely fall in love with you...", he thought. _

_Then, the cynical voice in his head hissed, "Dream on, Simone. She's not even in the van. And, if you don't snap out of it and stop staring, she's gonna get spooked and run..."._

_Marcus immediately focused, "Sorry for staring, lil' sister. It's the vanilla... it just triggered some old, sweet memories.". And, as he was saying it, Marcus leaned over to the passenger side of the van, unlocked the door and pushed it open for his new project... er, passenger._

_"That's okay, it's cool. I really like the scent, too."_

_Marcus smiled, "Come on, sweet angel. We've been waiting for you..."._

_"Well, lucky me.", Angel replied - eyes sparkling - as she stepped up and into the van, sat down and pulled the door shut._

_  
__  
__T.B.C._


End file.
